


The Fledgling

by hlravensnest_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Raven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-31
Updated: 2000-05-31
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlravensnest_archivist/pseuds/hlravensnest_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atHL Raven's Nest. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onHL Raven's Nest's collection profile.





	1. The Fledgling: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HL Raven's Nest](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HL_Raven%27s_Nest). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HL Raven's Nest's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hlravensnest/profile).

The Fledgling Part 1 by Chimera

| 

_**The Fledgling**_

Part One 

\- preliminary to The Raven & The Rose   
By Maril Swan aka Chimera © May 2000 

**Introduction**

The Highlander canon seems to be an amorphous thing, changing to meet necessity. From the first film to the Highlander series, new information has been added to the canon by screenwriters to make interesting stories and to get around problematical details. With this in mind, I am adding my own details to the canon. Purists may accept or reject my premises, but this is the foundation upon which I am building my story arc of Amanda. 

In my version of Immortality, an Immortal _ages one year for every hundred of human years,_ until they reach the mystical, magical _age of thirty-three,_ at which point they stop ageing. If an Immortal is already older, she/he doesn't age at all. When reading this story and its sequels, this fact will become more important, and the reader is asked to suspend any preconceived notions about Immortality until the final installment (which may be years away, sorry). 

Disclaimers & Copyrights: The characters of Amanda Montrose (Darieux, etc.), Rebecca Horne are copyrights of Davis/Panzer Productions and Gregory Widen. No infringement of their rights is intended nor is any income expected from this story. The story is original and is copyright to Maril Swan. 

Acknowledgements: Sincere thanks to Kathleen Hincks and Robert Sacchi for their critiques and suggestions on the story, plot and characters. Their encouragement and help benefitted the story greatly. And to Kay Kelly and Rebecca Ann Brothers for links and other assistance with the historical context. To the many folks on the Raven Forum, especially Jadrana and Toni, whose interesting comments on Amanda, helped to shape her character for me. And to those who read this story, I would love to hear from you. I reserve my final appreciation to the NestMistress of The Raven's Nest who has given my Fledgling a home. Thanks. 

* * *

_Neustria (Normandy), Late Summer - 846 AD, The Abbey of Ste. Geneviève  
\- just after Compline (late evening)_

Moonlight silhouetted the two figures as they skirted the Abbey wall. The taller one dragged the other by the sleeve, as they crept close to the old greystone building. Its castellated bulk loomed with the brightness of daylight, the details of the rough stone standing out in high relief. 

"I never should have let you talk me into this," the smaller one whispered urgently, her face in the moonlight a lurid mask of dread. 

"Hush," her companion hissed, "Do you want to get caught?" She pulled the other impatiently toward a dark opening in the Abbey wall. Moonlight flashed on her triumphant smile as she found the wooden door. She cursed and her friend gasped. It was locked. 

The smaller one began to whimper, "Now we're for it. How shall we get in?" 

Wan light glinted on something metallic that the other pulled out of her gown. With much twisting and scraping at the old lock, the tall one finally exclaimed, "Ah, it's open!" 

It took their combined strength to push the unused door open enough to gain entry. The rusted hinges squealed alarmingly loud and the two girls held their breath, but there was no sound from above. They shoved the door closed and found themselves in such total darkness, neither moved for several seconds. The dank mouldy smell, with the inky blackness that surrounded them, induced a sensation of claustrophobia, a few seconds of panic. 

"Amanda!" Margareth whispered fearfully. "Where are you?" 

Amanda felt something warm brush by her face, and gasped, then realized it was only Margareth's hand, reaching out to find her. She grasped her friend and tugged her along, feeling for the wall. The absence of light was disorienting, but Amanda found the wall, then stubbed her toe on the bottom step of a stone staircase. 

"Come on, Margareth," she whispered encouragingly, "We're almost there." 

Holding firmly to her friend with one hand, Amanda felt along the wall with the other. They stumbled up the stone staircase with no light to guide them. On one side was the reassuring solidity of the stone wall, on the other was black nothingness. One misstep and Amanda knew they would plunge into the deep stairwell, to injury and possibly death. No one would find them here as this entrance had not been used for many years. It was meant to be an escape route in case the old Abbey was attacked. 

Amanda felt her hand jerked back suddenly, and nearly lost her balance, as Margareth stumbled and tripped, almost dragging them both into the dark abyss. She found her friend with her other hand and pulled to assist Margareth back onto her feet. Margareth was panting with fright, weeping and trembling. For several seconds, they leaned against the stone wall, regaining their equilibrium and then, resumed the precarious ascent into the blackness. 

Amanda bumped into something solid as she inched her way upward. The door into the Abbey! It too was locked. She again produced the piece of metal, searching with her fingers for the opening of the lock. 

She could hear her friend's nervous breathing behind her, and Amanda knew Margareth was scared almost insensible by the darkness and the fear of discovery. She felt a momentary qualm about involving her friend in this escapade, then pushed it aside as she concentrated on picking the lock. 

"Amanda," her friend wailed, "I think I'm going to faint." 

Amanda pushed Margareth roughly against the wall. "No, you're not! Stay there and be quiet!" she said harshly. Turning back to the door, she found the lock aperture and carefully turned the metal piece, listening for the rusty tumblers to click into place. Her own breathing was laboured and her hands trembled. She carefully pushed the door. It cracked open with a long drawn-out creak. Pale moonlight from the clerestory windows spilled into the blackness of the old stairway. She heard Margareth's audible sigh of relief. 

Grasping Margareth's hand, she slid through the doorway and into the Abbey corridor. Not much further now, before they reached their cell and safety. 

Margareth seemed like a dead weight as Amanda hauled her along the corridors. Her friend's strength had deserted her as she wobbled along behind Amanda, nearly falling several times. She dragged Margareth up the stone staircase that led to the postulant's cells. On the top step, Margareth teetered alarmingly and Amanda caught her around the shoulders, taking the smaller girl's weight, and half-carrying her along the dimly lit hall. 

With a carelessness born of urgency, Amanda rushed along the corridor and turning a corner, collided with Sister Immaculata who was carrying a candle while making her rounds. The nun shrieked as she fell heavily onto the stone floor, her spare figure prostrate and her wimple askew, covering her face. 

Margareth pulled back as if to pick up the nun, but Amanda dragged her away and they raced down the corridor, turned again at the end and rushed into their own cell. Looking at Margareth's stricken face, Amanda began to laugh. All the tension of the last hour surged through her as she fell onto her cot, giggling hysterically, unable to control herself. 

She sobered immediately as heavy footsteps resounded in the corridor coming toward their room. They dived into their cots, and pulled up the blankets, feigning sleep. Their door creaked open and Sister Immaculata stood there, silently appraising the two sleepers. She closed the door and her footsteps died away. 

"Amanda," whispered Margareth vehemently, "This is the last time. The very last time. I'll never let you talk me into anything like this again!" she added furiously. Margareth pulled the blanket about her firmly as she heard Amanda chuckling in the dark. 

**** 

The two postulants stood before the Mother Superior, their eyes focused on the floor, their hands clenched at their sides. The old nun sat at a table which was covered in scrolls, studying the two accused. Behind her, the stained glass windows shone multicoloured patterns on the flagged floor. The taller girl seemed to be examining the coloured spots, as if oblivious to the serious trouble she was in. The other girl trembled as tears coursed down her cheeks. 

The door opened suddenly and Sister Immaculata limped in, her stern face grimacing with pain. Mother Superior wondered if there was an element of exaggeration in her anguish. 

"Are these the two?" Mother Superior asked the other nun. 

Sister Immaculata glared from one to the other, and pointed at Amanda. "That one, for certain. The other I'm not sure of. It was dark and I couldn't see after I was pushed to the ground." She seemed about to continue but Mother Superior held up her hand. 

"That will be all, Sister. I will deal with this." The sister turned with a grunt of pain, and hobbled out the door, closing it behind her. 

Mother Superior looked at the girls, and finally said, "Amanda, did you push Sister Immaculata down in the corridor last night?" 

"No, Mother," she replied, looking squarely into the old nun's eyes. 

"Margareth, was it you who pushed Sister Immaculata?" 

Margareth's lip trembled and she shook with fear. Her guilt was apparent and Mother Superior sighed heavily. "It is a grievous thing to harm another, especially one of our holy sisters," the nun began, "And you shall be punished severely for this, Margareth. For your penance..." 

Amanda cut in quickly with, "Mother, it was not Margareth. It was me. I knocked Sister Immaculata down in the corridor. Just me. I was alone." 

Perplexed, the Mother Superior watched as Margareth's tormented face showed her evident relief. Had Amanda lied before or was she lying now to protect her friend? She pursed her dry lips and asked, "What were you doing in the corridor when you should have been in bed?" 

Amanda remained silent, so the nun turned her attention to Margareth. Maybe something could be got out of her. "Were you with Amanda last night in the corridor?" 

Margareth's face paled and she mumbled, "Yes, Mother." 

"What were doing there, Margareth?" asked the nun, her voice rising with some exasperation. 

"We were going back to our room, Mother," Margareth answered, her tremulous voice barely audible. 

Mother Superior slammed her fist onto the table, making both girls jump. "That is no answer!" she snapped. "What were you doing out of your cell at that time of night? I will have the truth!" Her voice rang loudly in the small stone walled room and Margareth seemed about to faint with fright. 

"We had been outside, in the town, Mother," Amanda said. "It was my idea. I wanted to see the entertainment and made Margareth go with me. We got back in through the door behind the Abbey. While getting back to our room, I accidentally ran into Sister Immaculata. That is the truth." 

Spots of colour stained the old nun's cheeks as her sharp eyes hardened and narrowed with suspicion and anger. "And were you meeting young men outside the Abbey?" she asked harshly. 

The girls exchanged a puzzled glance. Amanda answered, "No, Mother. We went to the town square to watch the puppet show." She smiled slightly at the nun who scowled at her impertinence, and biting her lip, looked down again at the floor. 

Mother Superior sighed with relief, her anger mollified slightly. She was sure Amanda was telling the truth. But to sneak out of the Abbey after curfew was a grievous breach of the postulant's rules. The girls must be punished severely, if for no other reason than as a warning to other postulants. 

"I think you know you must be punished for this misdemeanour. You will have the penance of silence for one month-you may not speak to anyone, nor will they speak to you. You will be separated as you are obviously a bad influence on each other," she said, looking pointedly at Amanda. "You will beg Sister Immaculata's forgiveness, and will do whatever work she assigns you for one month..." 

As Mother Superior enumerated their penances, Amanda's heart sank. The penance of silence was the hardest of all penances. Amanda was a gregarious girl with many friends. She was well-liked. To be shunned by all and to keep silent would be almost intolerable. The other punishments would be easy compared to this. And the loss of her best friend, Margareth, that too was harsh. 

Amanda wondered as she listened to Mother Superior what menial work Sister Immaculata would devise for them. She had not long to wait to find out. 

Summoned into the presence of Sister Immaculata later that morning, Amanda and Margareth awaited their punishment. 

"In your first few months here, Amanda and Margareth, you have not learned obedience. You, particularly, Amanda, have flouted our authority and shown no regard for our rules. So it is up to me to teach you obedience." 

Sister Immaculata smiled with pleasure. "As you obviously want to be outside the Abbey, you will spend the next month working on the Abbey farms with the serfs in the fields. In the evenings, you will serve all the meals and clean up afterwards. You will not speak to anyone but me, and only when I address you. Is that clear?" 

The girls mumbled their acquiescence, and were dismissed to begin their duties. 

The backbreaking toil of the serf was altogether foreign to Margareth who came of a privileged family and had never done physical labour. She suffered from aching muscles, blistered hands and from the relentless long days of picking rocks, pulling up weeds or pushing barrows of manure to spread on the fields. 

Though Amanda had done this type of work before, in her home village, she too found it taxing. She had hoped by going into the convent, she would never have to do this sort of hard labour again. 

* * *

_Neustria, Early Summer - 848 AD, The Abbey of Ste. Geneviève  
\- just after Compline (late evening)_

With a warm loaf tucked under her arm, a furtive figure skulked down the Abbey corridor, and ducked into a dark doorway, a second before a couple of Sisters passed by, chatting quietly. From another doorway across the hall, a pale hand beckoned and a young woman, peering warily in both directions, slipped across and into the room. A chorus of giggles accompanied her entrance as several postulants, all wearing the grey wool habit, surrounded her. 

She tore chunks of bread off the loaf and handed them around. The girls devoured them hungrily, avid for more. The door suddenly slammed open and Sister Theresa, the bakery nun, pushed her ample bulk into the room, her usually affable round face scowling at the group of young women guiltily munching on the stolen bread. 

"I might have known it was you," she thundered at the bread thief. "Come with me! Mother Superior will hear of this." She dragged the terrified postulant by the sleeve, and added, "The rest of you will have severe penances for your part in this wickedness. For shame, all of you!" She shook her head and her jowls trembled in anger. 

**** 

_Next day - around 11 a.m._

"Well, it's finally come to this!" The old nun pursed her lips severely as she regarded the girl standing anxiously before her. The young woman hung her head, her hands worrying the rope that girded her postulant's habit. 

"Be still!" the nun commanded. 

The girl dropped her trembling hands to her sides, and studied the pattern of the flagged floor, awaiting the sentence that must follow her latest misdemeanour. She bit her lip nervously, her mouth dry. An annoying tickle in the back of her throat made her want to cough, but she feared to make any move, any sound. The Mother Superior had never been so furious! 

"Amanda!" the Mother Superior said at last. "What will become of you?" Her voice, though angry, was tinged by compassion. She sighed heavily as she studied the young woman before her. Lanky and angular as a young colt, and as wild! At only seventeen, she was fair of face with a cascade of raven-black hair, and though thin, her body showed the promise of the generous feminine curves more maturity would bring. With those saucy dark eyes in that beauteous face, she would soon face many temptations. The nun shook her aged head, regretfully. _What indeed would become of her?_

"I have had many postulants and novices here in the Abbey who needed discipline and patience," she began, her voice edged with exasperation. "But you, Amanda, have exhausted all my patience, all my resources. Scarcely a day goes by that someone does not complain of you, that you do not transgress our Rule." 

She heaved another sigh and continued. "It seems that no amount of punishment or penance can deter you from your wild impulses. You are a careless, reckless girl! And you drag others into your folly, so they receive punishments too. You follow your own whims without a thought of the consequences, to yourself or to others." 

"We have tolerated your misbehaviour and tried our best to correct you, Amanda. But what we cannot tolerate is a thief! You have gone beyond the pale this time!" 

Mother Superior placed her folded hands upon the table, as if she were about to pass judgement. Amanda held her breath, expecting yet another long penance on her knees in the Abbey chapel, or deprivation of food, or isolation in her cell. It was a familiar litany after two years in the Abbey. Most of the young girls who had entered the Order with her, had already passed on to become novices. But Amanda had been unable to adjust to the rigorous discipline of convent life, the enforced structure on her days and hours. So she remained a postulant until Mother Superior deemed her worthy to progress in the Order. Amanda wondered what form her punishment would take this time. 

"Amanda," Mother Superior said flatly, "I must expel you from the Abbey." Amanda's stricken face paled and she gasped. "No! Please. Reverend Mother, please give me another chance. I will mend my ways. I promise. I have been happier here than anywhere in my whole life. Please, do not send me away!" Her dark eyes were wide with alarm as she pleaded with the old nun. She dropped to her knees onto the cold flagstone floor. "I will take any punishment, do any penance. Give me another chance, I beg you." 

Hope alighted in the young woman's face as the Mother Superior's eyes softened momentarily. The Abbess loved this wayward child almost as if she were her own daughter. She felt very keenly her own failure to bring this wild girl to the grace of God, to instill in her the discipline and piety the Order demanded. Sending Amanda back to her family was the hardest thing she ever had to do since she had become Abbess. She gripped her folded hands tightly and firmed her resolve. 

"It is too late for repentance or apologies, Amanda. Perhaps it is partly my own fault that you behave as you do. I have been too lenient with you. But, the matter is no longer in my hands. Late last night we sent a messenger to your parents. Your father is waiting with a cart, outside the Abbey gates to take you home. Go and gather your belongings, Amanda." 

As Amanda arose, adjusting her grey wool postulant habit, the door opened to admit a tall severe-looking nun who bustled in and bowed respectfully to the Abbess. She shot a triumphant glare at Amanda, as if to say, _so we are finally to be rid of you._

"Sister Immaculata, you will say one hundred Ave Marias for that unkind look. Now, what is it?" the Abbess asked sharply. 

"The postulant's father sent a message asking that his daughter come soon, as they have a long ride, and he wishes to be home before dark." Sister Immaculata bent her head as she spoke but the flush which rose to her sallow cheeks told of her loathing for the expelled postulant. She pressed her thin lips together as if to stop herself from giving further vent to her antipathy. 

"Thank you, Sister. You may go." The Mother Superior looked down briefly at the table and Sister Immaculata narrowed her eyes at Amanda, smiling maliciously. Amanda put her tongue out at the Sister, just as the Abbess looked up again. The Sister rushed from the room before earning herself another penance. 

"Amanda," the Abbess said, shaking her head ruefully, and smiling slightly in spite of herself, "You are incorrigible!" 

She arose from her table and went around to embrace Amanda fondly. She released the girl and said, "My dear child. Do not think of this time in the convent as a failure. You simply do not have the temperament for this estate. So, it is to the other estate that you must go. Marriage." 

Amanda suddenly felt cold inside. "Marriage, Reverend Mother? I do not wish to marry." She fell back a pace as if looking for an escape. 

"I spoke to your father earlier this morning. You have been betrothed to a lad in a neighbouring village. His family has a prosperous farm, and they are willing to welcome you. In due course, Amanda, you will have to accept the responsibilities of dutiful wife and good mother. Marriage is an honourable estate, sanctified by God." The Abbess studied the wild, desperate look in Amanda's eyes, and felt a fervent sympathy. Continuing gently, she added, "Of course this is a bit of a shock for you, all at once. But this is what your father has arranged for you. Your intended husband has been carefully chosen, and you may reasonably expect to be happy with him." 

"How can I be happy with a man I don't even know, Reverend Mother?" The young woman took a deep breath, drawing herself erect and stated, "I will not marry!" An implacable look set in her dark eyes. 

"Amanda! You _will_ learn obedience!" the Abbess said sternly. " If not from me, for I have failed you, then from your husband. It is his duty to guide you and help you attain the state of grace to enter Heaven. You must obey him, even if you do not love him. Perhaps a man will have the strength, which I did not, to curb your wildness. You will do as your father wishes, and you will be married." 

The Abbess said this last with such finality that Amanda seemed to abandon all thoughts of rebuttal. With a last despairing look at the Abbess, Amanda said forlornly, "Yes, Reverend Mother." 

As she turned toward the door, the Abbess called after her. "You will always be in my prayers, Amanda. God go with you. And always remember, if you ever need me, this holy ground will be your sanctuary." 

**** 

Amanda carried her few possessions tied in a shawl as she walked for the last time down the corridors of the Abbey. The other postulants and novices averted their eyes and did not speak. It was a great humiliation to be expelled, an example to others who flouted the Rules of the Order. As she passed her best friend Margareth, Amanda gave her a tremulous smile which, though against the Rules, her friend returned. She was being cast out, but at least she had one friend who would grieve for her and remember her. 

Tears prickled behind her eyes, but Amanda vowed she would not give vent to them. Pulling herself up straight, she marched out the Abbey doors, through the courtyard and out of the gates where a horse and wagon stood waiting in the blazing summer sun. After the dimness of the Abbey, the bright sun hurt her eyes, and she shaded them while walking toward the rough cart. A man sat hunched on the bench, the rigid set of his back informing Amanda her father was in a wrathful temper. 

_He looks older,_ Amanda thought, as she approached. _His hair is whiter and thinner, and he seems to have shrunk into himself._ It had been two years since she had seen her father, and she felt a certain sadness at the changes that time had wrought in him. She had always thought of her father as a big, strong man, his strength deriving from his trade of master mason. Her father's hands always held a fascination for her, with their callouses and misshapen joints. For all their apparent clumsiness, her father handled the tools of his trade with dexterity. He had been much in demand as a stone mason for any major building, even working for a time on the Saxon cathedral at Aachen. 

With the money her father earned by his trade, her family was thought of as wealthy. They were respected in their small town of Mont Rose as one of the leading yeoman families. Her older sister, Cloris, had married well and her brothers, Edgar and Aelfric, followed their father's trade. Her mother, Elspeth, enjoyed the esteem of the villagers, priding herself on her own piety and good works for the less fortunate in the community. 

Only Amanda proved an impediment to her continuing to preen herself in the estimation of those she considered beneath her in class. Amanda had engaged her parents in many disputes with their neighbours with her numerous misdemeanours and misadventures. Families and clergy complained of her risk-taking, daring other village children to follow her dangerous exploits, with many a broken bone the result. Local merchants accused Amanda of stealing their wares, sweets and pastries, of which she was sometimes guilty. Whatever mischief occurred in the village, Amanda was usually deemed the culprit. 

It was more than her mother could bear. Amanda must go. And, as her father felt she was too young to marry, the only place a fifteen-year-old girl could go was the convent. Accordingly, Amanda was sent to the nearby Abbey, there to learn piety and self-discipline. 

But, though the Order was strict and the discipline was rigorous, it had not bent Amanda to its will, not abated her high-spirited _joie de vivre._ She had tried very hard to keep the required silences, to fast though her stomach rebelled, to be on time for the many services of the day from Matins to Complines, to show the proper respect to the Sisters. 

Amanda chafed under the exacting and ordered life of a postulant. She longed to be free of authority, feeling like a racehorse yoked to a plough. Sometimes, her rebellious spirit could not be contained and she broke the Rules, led raids to the kitchen to supplement their meagre diet and generally, got herself and others into trouble with the nuns. And though punishments were meted out and penances exacted over and over, she would impulsively act on some spirited caprice and land in trouble again. 

After two years in the Abbey, Amanda had begun to feel this was her home, this holy ground. She was happier than she had ever been. If only she could have learned to control her impulses, to keep the Rule as other postulants had done. But, she had not, and was now paying the price. 

Remorsefully, she thought to herself, _this is all my own fault. I caused Mother Superior much anguish, and now I am expelled from the only place I was ever happy._ She sighed heavily and the sound attracted her father's attention. He scowled, and mumbled gruffly, "Get in, girl." 

Amanda climbed onto the bench beside her father, and without another word, he flicked the traces over the horse. With a jolt, the wagon started along the rutted track, back toward her village, and her old life. To face the ridicule of her neighbours, and the wrath of her mother. 

She felt a knot tightening in her stomach as she thought of her mother. Amanda had to admit she was afraid of the woman. She had not spared Amanda many beatings and punishments for her misdeeds, the retributions being out of proportion to the offense. Amanda felt her mother hated her. 

Her earliest memories were of feeling outcast in her own family, a stranger among them. She did not resemble anyone in the family. Amanda often thought this was the reason for her mother's preferment of the other three children. Her parents and siblings were big-boned people, of the Celtic race they said proudly, with ginger hair and ruddy complexions. She was slim, fair complected and dark-haired. She looked like no one else in her village, being taller than all of the women and most of the men. 

Amanda winced inwardly as she remembered the taunts of the village children regarding her different appearance. They called her witch's child and changeling, and much worse. 

The adults treated her no better. She had been accused of many things she had not done, and been punished for misdeeds of which she was innocent, while the perpetrators jeered at her later. These injustices had created many a scuffle with the village children and had ended with Amanda again being punished as the instigator. It seemed to Amanda that she could do nothing right, even when she was in the right. 

Amanda glanced at her father, his gnarled hands gripping the reins so tightly, his knuckles showed white. She loved this taciturn man. He had tried to protect her against her accusers, been her only defence against her mother's hot temper. Without him, her young life would have been more miserable. She always felt his love as a shield against those who hated her. _Now,_ she wondered, _has even he turned against me?_

As the miles rolled under the wagon wheels, father and daughter preserved a strained silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, her father seemed to shake himself as if coming out of a reverie and heaved a great sigh. 

"Ye've brought great shame upon us, Amanda," he said curtly. "Bein' expelled from the convent. Even the holy sisters could not keep you, put you on the right path." He shook his head morosely. In profile, his face was austere with a great hooked nose under thick brows whose sandy colour was fading to white. His amber eyes were deep-set, intelligent and canny. A white-flecked red beard hid his chin and mouth. 

Staring straight ahead, he continued, "Ye're mother will not have you under her roof no more. At least whilst you were in the Abbey, I had some peace with that woman. Now, she's been at me to get you married and out of her sight." 

He slid a glance at Amanda. "Maybe marriage will get you over your childish nonsense and teach some obedience. Lord knows I couldn't," he said bitterly. "It's time you learned your place as a woman, Amanda. You'll be married in a fortnight. The banns are posted," he added with finality. 

Despite the warmth of the summer sun, Amanda felt chilled to her marrow. Her life was turned upside down, and going in a direction not of her choosing. Desperately, she searched for an idea, an escape. But there was nothing to be done. It was settled. She would be married. 

Resignedly, she asked, "Who am I to marry, Father. What is he like?" 

"His name is Iggabod. He is a yeoman farmer's son from the village of Wessingford. I spoke to his father earlier today and they agreed to take you. He's a strapping lad, strong as an ox, " and about as smart, her father added under his breath. 

Amanda heard the muted comment, her spirits sinking. _Big and stupid,_ she thought hopelessly. _What am I to do? I cannot go through with this. I would rather die._

"Father, I do not want to marry this man. I will marry someone, but, please, let me choose for myself. I will not stay at home. I will hire myself out to a farm, as a milkmaid or a sheepherder. You will not have to worry over me again. But, please, don't make me marry this man." Even as she pleaded with her father, Amanda could see by the way he clenched his jaw more firmly, he was not to be moved by any entreaties. 

"The banns are posted, the dowry agreed upon. Do not bring more shame on us by breaking a promise of marriage," her father ground out angrily. More gently, he added, "Iggabod's father has settled some land on him and he will be a good provider for you and your bairns, when you have them. This is for the best, Amanda. You could not do better for yourself. So, be guided by your elders and do as you are bid." 

He lapsed again into a grim silence, contemplating the rutted wagon track along which they travelled. On either side of the road were the farms owned by the Abbey. Labourers sweated in the fields, the women and children stooking sheaves while the men scythed the grain. Muted singing reached them from the workers, which normally gave Amanda gladness. But she hardly heard their music or felt the warmth of the mid-day sun. All the joy in her life seemed to have vanished this day as she rode away from the Abbey and into a bleak future. 

**** 

Hours later, the wagon topped a high point of land. The view was a spectacular sweep of rolling hills and small farmsteads demarcated by stone fences. A sparkling river wound its way through the valleys like a silver thread. Several villages edged the river, small clusters of cottages from which the smoke from cooking fires rose lazily into the warm, summer air. The villages were divided by a large woods which followed the river, flanking the hills and marching part way up the hill they were riding down. 

Amanda could see her own town from this vantage point. Her stomach jumped with fear as she realized they were close to her home and her mother. She wasn't ready yet to face her mother, and the angry tirade, which would surely follow. Anxiously, she looked around for an escape. 

She leapt from the wagon with her pack, and ran downhill towards the woods. Her father, too taken aback at first to speak, jerked the cart to a stop, and yelled after her, "Amanda, come back here." But, by the time he had reacted, the girl had already disappeared into the woods, and his words were lost on the gentle warm wind. He plopped down onto the bench, striking his thigh angrily, "Devil take the girl," he growled, then quickly crossed himself against the curse, as he feared it would come all too true. 

Amanda heard her father call, feeling a moment of guilt, then rushed into the familiar woods she had roamed since she was a child. The sudden tranquillity of the forest was a balm to her troubled spirit, its quiet soothing to her ears after hours of the creaking, jolting wagon. She was hungry and thirsty, her father not having thought to bring food or drink, and her mother, of course, would not have offered to prepare it. But the forest provided a feast of raspberries and strawberries, which assuaged her needs somewhat. Amanda wandered aimlessly for a long while, picking and eating the fruit until she was satisfied. She sat down on a flat rock, leaning her back against a tree, drinking in the calm green beauty of the woods, the bird songs, the gentle rustle of the trees in the wind. And fell into an untroubled sleep. 

**** 

Something tickled her cheek and she awoke with a start. A cobweb stuck to her hand as she brushed at her face. The web was shredded but its tiny weaver still struggled to spin the silken thread as she shook it to the ground. 

It was nearly dark, and Amanda knew her father would be looking for her. She should have been home hours before. Her heart sank with the realization that she was in trouble, again. 

Picking up her pack, Amanda strode quickly through the darkening woods, following familiar paths and markings that she and her playmates had made many years before. She found the bridge of fallen logs they had rolled over a narrow part of the river, and which few had dared to cross, none of the village children being able to swim. Amanda stepped carefully onto the slippery, mossy logs, and with the prospect of a cold dunk into the swift flowing river on either hand, made her way to the other side. The accomplishment exhilarated her, and she laughed aloud as she stepped onto the soft muddy bank. 

Keeping to the woods, she circled behind the village, and came to the back of her own cottage. Their home was her mother's greatest pride. It was the best in the town, being made of stone, hewn and laid by her father. The cottage was larger than most, sturdy and warm. The thickly thatched roof was in good repair, and housed many birds' nests. 

With the ease of long practice, Amanda found the footholds in the rear wall of her cottage, and hoisted herself up to the narrow slatted opening near the apex of the roof. She pulled the cover off and wriggled through, noticing that she did not fit so easily as she had two years ago. Quietly replacing the slatted cover, Amanda turned to view the loft that had been the children's sleeping area. It seemed so much smaller, and she had to bend to keep from bumping her head on the ceiling. 

Amanda had no plan in mind how to present herself to her parents. She could hear some noises below and knew her mother was in the house. The door banged suddenly and she jumped, startled. 

"Well, Elspeth, I don't know where she has got to," her father's angry voice rose through the cottage, his tone conveying worry and exasperation. "I've looked everywhere." A chair creaked as he slumped into it. 

"And you argued against marrying her!" Her mother's strident voice seemed to beat around Amanda's ears, memories of that voice being accompanied by a slap or worse resounding in her head. "See what your coddling has led to? She listens to no one, not even the holy sisters." 

Her mother paused, then added harshly, "It was an evil day when you brought her to us. I've always said so. She's a witch child. A changeling. Even for all the money, it has not been worth the woe she has brought into this house." 

Amanda felt as if her heart had stopped. She was rigid, frozen, as she listened to her parents. _Are they talking about me?_ she thought wildly. _It must be someone else. I am their child._

"Elspeth, that money has helped us through many a hard time, and given us more comforts than I could earn with my trade. And to say fair for Amanda, she has been a joy most of the time. Yes, she is wilful, and high-spirited..." 

"Willful and high-spirited!" her mother retorted. "She is wicked, nothing less. The sooner she is gone, the happier I shall be. I wish Iggabod good luck with her. He will need it. I will even let him have this, for all the good it has ever done." Amanda heard her pick up something and knew it was the leather strop with which she'd had many a painful encounter. 

The chair scraped on the flagged floor as her father got up. "Well, I shall go out and look for her again." 

"You'll probably find her lying in some hayrick with a village lad," her mother jibed. The door slammed loudly, then there was silence. 

Scarcely breathing, Amanda seemed suspended, unable to move or think. What had she witnessed? The people she called mother and father were not her real parents? They had been paid money to keep her? It couldn't be true! 

Sinking to the loft floor, with an anguished sob, Amanda trembled and wept silently, trying not to be heard below. She would not give that woman the satisfaction of knowing she had finally dealt her a blow she could not withstand. For long moments she shuddered with pent-up grief, over her expulsion from the Abbey, the enforced marriage and worst of all, the loss of her family. It was a sham, all of it. She had been kept for money, not for love. 

Finally, Amanda straightened and wiped her face. Staring emptily into the dark loft, she came to a decision. Arising quietly, she slipped down the ladder into the main room. A candle burned on the table, casting dancing shadows against the stone walls. At the far end of the sparsely furnished room, a woman dozed in a chair, her mending in her lap. 

Something disturbed her slumber and she opened her eyes, and started as if she'd seen a ghost. The momentary fright was replaced with anger. "Well, Amanda, " she demanded harshly, "Where have you been?" 

Her mother's face was more pinched and severe than she remembered. The sandy red hair of which she had been so proud had streaks of white all through. Her body, at only age thirty-five, was bent and slack with child-bearing. Only three of her many children had lived to adulthood. The others had died at birth or of some childhood disease. Amanda could not remember her ever having smiled but knew she had few teeth. "For every child, a tooth," the saying went, and it held true for her mother. To Amanda, who had not seen her in two years, she looked old and worn. 

"Your father has been looking for you for hours, you wicked girl. Where have you been?" Her mother stood up, grunting painfully with rheumatism. 

Amanda pointed to the loft, her eyes cold and distant. She would not pity this wreck of a woman. 

Elspeth sucked in a sudden breath. "How long?" 

"Long enough to hear everything," replied Amanda coldly. 

Elspeth recovered quickly from her surprise, and keeping her voice level, said, "It's best you should know. You must have wondered why you don't look like any of us." 

"I wondered, and now I know. I also know you never wanted me. It was for the money. My keep was paid for by someone. Who? My real mother?" Amanda's voice was flat, emotionless, though Elspeth could see by the redness around her eyes that she'd been weeping. 

A flash of pity softened Elspeth's eyes momentarily then she continued to regard Amanda with stony indifference. Coolly, she answered, "We don't know who the woman was. She said she was not your mother. She has sent us money by courier every Michaelmas. It came from Paris. That is all I know." 

"What did she look like?" 

"She was young, red-haired and just under your height. They seem to grow tall in the north," Elspeth added irrelevantly. 

Amanda studied the woman she had called mother. She wondered how she could ever have feared this person over whom she towered now, and who seemed old and spent. She realized what she feared was the loss of her love more than any harsh punishments Elspeth had dealt her. But now she knew she was never in danger of losing that which she never had. 

"I shall not marry the man chosen for me," Amanda said levelly. "I am going away. I shall trouble you no further." Slinging her pack over her shoulder, she turned toward the door. 

It seemed that as Elspeth was about to realize her fondest wish, she had some misgivings about letting Amanda go. She sighed heavily, and said, "I have not loved you, Amanda, it is true, as your father has. I did try, but could not. You were not my own child. When you came to us, you were so dark and fey, I was afraid. I feared you were a faerie child. As you grew up, you were so different from other children, so wild. I prayed for you, but you seemed to be drawn toward wickedness. I did what I thought was right, but it has come to nothing. Now you will go out into the world of temptations, and with your untamed nature, I know not what will happen to you. I fear for your soul." 

Amanda waited, hopefully, for Elspeth to ask her to stay, but she did not. Instead, Elspeth went to a small cupboard, pulled it out from the wall, and feeling behind it, withdrew a small leather bag. It jingled as she walked toward Amanda with it. "This is your dowry, Amanda. I saved it from the money sent for you. Take it. You will need money if you are travelling." 

Amanda stood uncertainly watching Elspeth, aching to embrace her one last time, but unable to move. Elspeth placed the leather bag into her hand and stepped away. It was heavy with coins. 

Elspeth's usually strident voice softened as she said, "What will I tell your...tell Cedric? He will be worried about you." 

"Tell him I hope the money has been worth it." 

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

* * *  
  
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	2. The Fledgling: Part Two

The Fledgling Part 2 by Chimera

| 

_**The Fledgling**_

Part Two   
By Maril Swan aka Chimera © May 2000 

* * *

Two days weary walking, keeping to the wooded verge of the road, found Amanda at a crossroads. While she was near her village she kept hidden to avoid meeting anyone she knew. As she put some distance from it, she stayed on the road, going in what she reckoned was a northerly direction. She did not know where she was, and could not read the signpost. Her unshod feet were blistered and cut as she carried her shoes to save the wear on them. Dropping wearily to the ground next to the post, she felt such desolation, such utter loneliness, she could not hold back her tears. 

She had not eaten since early the day before, so was weak with hunger and fatigue. As she sobbed with self-pity, she heard what sounded like the strumming of a lute. She lifted her heard, searching for the sound. A melodic voice drifted to her as a horse and rider came into view from around a bend in the road. 

The rider seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see one such as him. He was dressed in a fashionable tunic of burgundy, emblazoned with gold thread and shiny buttons. His plumed hat, set aslant on his dark head, matched the tunic. His legs were encased in fine brown hose, cross-gaitered with red leather thongs. Across his chest he held a lute which he plucked while humming to himself. 

Seeing Amanda's tear-stained face and reddened eyes, he smiled at her and began a familiar tune: 

_Early one morning,_   
_Just as the sun was rising_   
_I heard a maiden weeping_   
_In the valley below_

He dismounted his horse and leaning down, said to Amanda, “And why is one so fair weeping? My lady of sorrows.” He swept his hat off gallantly, bowing deeply, and smiled again into her eyes. “If I can be of service, my fair maid, I shall die of gladness.” 

Amanda was too astonished by his manner and appearance to create a coherent thought. _He must think I'm simple,_ she admonished herself, trying to overcome her awkwardness. She struggled to rise, and he held out his hand to assist her. Unlike her father's hand, his was soft and uncalloused. Reluctantly, it seemed, he let her hand go after placing a reverent kiss upon the back. 

Amanda snatched her hand away and put some distance between them. His elegant attire and manner made her feel cloddish, an ignorant village girl with ragged, dirty clothes. Already at a disadvantage, to be found weeping made her feel vulnerable, exposed. Fatigue and hunger shortened her temper and resentment flared as this insolent fellow seemed to be laughing at her. It was intolerable. 

“You can do me a great service, if you will go on about your business, sir!” she snapped, and limped painfully away from the crossroads sign. His merry chuckle followed her and Amanda straightened herself to march away with some dignity. To her annoyance, the fellow seemed to trail behind her, his horse's clopping tread sounding very close. 

“As we seem to be going in the same direction, perhaps we may be company for each other,” he said, drawing even with her, and smiling merrily. “These are dangerous times, especially for a young maid, such as yourself, to be travelling alone. I offer you my protection for whatever part of your journey we may travel together.” Beaming another wide grin at her, he continued, “Indeed, I also offer the comfort of my horse so you may rest your weary feet a while. What say you?” 

Amanda halted and took a long look at her persistent companion. The fellow was as tall as she. His age she could not guess, but she felt he was older than her seventeen years. His dark hair was tied neatly behind his head, and his beard trimmed close to his chin. It was a handsome, roguish face, very attractive and somewhat frightening. Searching those twinkling blue eyes, she saw a depth of intelligence, and an element of danger. 

Despite her earlier mistrust, she found herself drawn to his infectious good humour, and something reckless and adventurous she sensed about him. Amanda gave him a half-hearted smile and said, “I would indeed be grateful for your company. My apologies for my earlier rudeness.” 

“I have not broken my fast yet this morning. Would you join me for a meal? I have only some bread and cheese, but with you as my guest, it will be a banquet,” he said with a blithe lilt in his voice. 

He bowed elegantly, not seeing Amanda's narrowed gaze as she once again felt her mistrust rise at his effusive posturing. _A fancy rooster,_ she thought dismissively, _but at least it will relieve some of the tedium of journeying alone, and he did offer some food._

“I have not introduced myself,” he added. “I am Randall, a bard and poet. A troubadour to the courts, and jongleur and entertainer to the towns. And who might you be, fair lady?” His eyes took in her ragged, travel-stained appearance, then dwelt appraisingly on her unkempt hair and dirty face. It was obvious by his look that he found her beneath him in class, but attractive nonetheless. 

Amanda found this scrutiny uncomfortable, making her feel awkward, ungainly. She stammered slightly then said, “My name is Amanda. And I would be pleased to share your meal, Randall.” She glanced away from those penetrating eyes. The offer of food was too good to pass up, in spite of her discomfort in his presence. Her stomach rumbled loudly causing him to smile. 

Randall tethered his horse and opening his pannier, pulled out something wrapped in linen. He gestured to Amanda to seat herself, and passed her the cloth-wrapped food. It took all her willpower not to devour the bread and cheese immediately, her hunger was so keen. But she waited until Randall came to sit beside her with a flagon of some liquid. 

He broke off some bread and cheese and offered it to her. Amanda chewed slowly, enjoying the sensation of the sharpness of the cheese, then the yeasty flavour of the black bread. Randall watched her as she blissfully satisfied her hunger, then offered her a drink from the flagon. 

Amanda had never tasted wine, and found its dry harshness distasteful. She handed back the flagon, and asked, “Have you any water with you? Or ale?” 

Randall shrugged and arose to get another flagon which he gave Amanda somewhat reluctantly. “Do you not like wine, Amanda?” he asked. She shook her head, and he added, “Perhaps it is an acquired taste.” 

“I do not think I will ever get to like it,” she said. “I prefer ale or small beer.” She handed back the flagon of water, and started to rise. Randall quickly offered his hand and pulled Amanda to her feet. Continuing to hold her hand, he looked deeply into her eyes, moving his head slowly toward her. She backed away, confused, mistrustful. 

With a mocking smile, he said, “Let me offer you the use of my horse. She is sweet-natured but fleet of foot.” 

Amanda looked at the horse apprehensively. It was a huge grey hunter, and its great body and long shaggy legs made her quake slightly. “I have never ridden a horse. I would prefer to walk.” 

“You will be perfectly safe on her back. I will hold the reins and lead her.” 

Randall placed his hand near the stirrup of his horse to allow Amanda to mount. She landed awkwardly in the saddle, trying to balance herself. She had never been on a horse and the odd sensation of sitting astride the beast was unnerving, especially when it swayed and shook itself uneasily at the unfamiliar rider. Amanda gripped the pommel tightly, her eyes wide with fear. 

Randall laughed. “She's a tame beast once she gets used to you. You're making her fret with your own nervousness. Try to relax. Be still on the saddle. I'll not let her run away with you.” Obviously enjoying her anxiety, Randall took the reins and began to lead the horse down the rough road. 

After a while, Amanda found the rhythm of the horse and let herself sway with it. The view from horseback was exhilarating, as was the feeling of riding the beautiful animal. She stroked it velvety grey neck, and tickled its ears, causing them to twitch. Even its horsey scent, which she inhaled from its sweating hide, she found sensually enjoyable. She grinned with pleasure at these new sensations. With the warm sun on her shoulders, and the open road ahead, Amanda began to feel that the world may have something to offer her after all. 

A little guiltily, she watched Randall striding along, holding the reins, and began to feel her earlier qualms starting to vanish. He was something entirely new to her inexperienced years, and Amanda found it difficult to know how to deal with him. She was a freewoman, therefore had no feelings of inequality, yet there seemed to be a subtle difference of class between them. 

She wondered what he thought of her, knowing she must look like a runaway serf or worse. She wished she could have some clean mended clothes to put on, or at the very least, could bathe somehow. Her years in the Abbey had taught her the habit of cleanliness, and though they also seemed to regard nakedness as sinful, the nuns insisted that the postulants keep themselves clean. For many girls, it was their first encounter with bathing. Part of the convent's introductory regime was to rid the girls of lice and teach them to maintain their postulant's habit in good repair. 

Now, as Amanda rode along, only two days from the convent, she felt very keenly her own unkempt appearance. All she had in her pack were a sewing kit, her own brush and comb, some underclothing and a shawl. She had tied the purse of money inside her skirt where it hung heavily but out of sight. She wondered how she could modestly suggest a stop near a stream or pond where she could bathe. Never having spent any time alone with a man other than her father, Amanda was uncertain how to broach this matter. 

Steeling herself against his mocking gaze, Amanda began tentatively, “Randall?” He turned, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “I...that is, I haven't...I mean, I wish to....where is there a place where I might bathe?” 

His look of surprise told her what he obviously thought. She was what she looked like-a dirty, ignorant runaway serf. If that was the case, why was he being so kind to her? What did he want? Indignation seethed in her breast at his disdainful gaze. She was no one to be dismissed lightly, she thought angrily. 

Randall stopped the horse and came to stand by its flank, placing his hand familiarly on Amanda's leg. She flinched and gave him a hostile glare. He moved his hand and stepped back a pace. If Amanda was having difficulty dealing with him, Randall found it even harder to place her into a context he understood. She had the face of an angel, but the eyes of a tavern hussy. Her clothing befitted a country wench, but her manner spoke of some refinement. He was puzzled by this waif whom fate had cast into his path. 

“There is a brook a few miles ahead. The road crosses it at a shallow ford. You may bathe there, if you wish.” Amanda nodded and Randall pulled the horse onward by the reins. They plodded down the road, which wound its way through the vast forest. 

As she sway to the rhythm of the horse's gait, Amanda was suddenly struck by a thought .... _I am free!_ It was such a heady sensation, she nearly lost her balance, causing the horse to prance a bit. She laughed with the joy of it. _This is the life I was meant for,_ she thought, _to be free to go where I please and do what I want._ Her spirits soaring, she felt the horse dancing beneath her as if it too were infected by her happiness. Impulsively, she kneed the horse into a gallop and dashed headlong down the road, whooping with delight. 

The reins jerked out of Randall's hand as the horse bolted past him. He heard the girl laughing wildly as the horse and rider sped by, covering his fine clothes with a spray of dust. Too stunned to react at first, Randall watched them disappear down the road and around a bend. Cursing himself for a fool, he trudged on after them, wondering how he could have been so easily taken in. She had stolen his horse and all his possessions. He ground his teeth in exasperation. 

**** 

Once she had the horse galloping, Amanda realized with terror, she didn't know how to stop it. Hanging onto the saddle for dear life, she saw the forest blaze by in a blur as the horse raced over the road like a thing possessed. It was frightened, Amanda could see, by the white rim showing around its eyes. It was all she could do to keep her seat. 

Ahead, she saw a glitter across the road. The brook. The horse thundered to its edge and stopped abruptly, tossing Amanda headlong into the water. She plunged into the cold stream, landing bruisingly hard on the pebble bottom. The shocking cold made her gasp, and as she arose, dripping, she began to laugh, falling back into the water. _Well,_ she thought to herself with some chagrin, _I wanted to bathe._ She sloshed out of the brook and moved toward the horse. 

It browsed along the shore, slurping water and chewing green plants, panting hard. Amanda took the reins and tied them to a bush. She pulled her pack out of the pannier, where she had placed it earlier, and got out her brush and comb. Going back into the stream, she washed her hair, then as much of herself as she could manage without removing her clothing. She had nothing to change into, so washed her gown while wearing it, scrubbing the worst of the grime off. 

As she sat on the bank, braiding her hair in the warm midday sun, Randall appeared. He looked hot, sweaty and angry. A surprised look crossed his face, seeing Amanda and his horse waiting at the ford. He had thought never to see either again. 

“Well,” he said, his humour returning somewhat, “It looks like you've had your bath already.” 

“Yes, your horse obliged me with a toss into the brook.” She laughed gaily, then more sombrely added, “I'm sorry about running off with your horse. It was a foolish whim. But no harm done.” She gave him a brilliant smile which he returned. 

“No harm,” he laughed, finding himself riveted by the picture she made. Like a woodland faerie, he thought to himself. With a clean face and her black hair neatly combed and braided, she scarcely resembled the bedraggled girl he had met only hours ago. Once again he was struck by the sensation that there was more to this woman than met the eye. In some way, she was special, different. He felt drawn to her as he had not been to a woman for a very long time. That made him wary of her. 

“I suppose this is as good a place as any to take our midday meal,” he said, going to the pannier. He withdrew the linen pack and gave it to Amanda. “I shall bathe myself first. It was a long, hot walk to here,” he admonished lightly, raising an eyebrow at her, “And I feel the need of a plunge into the stream to cool me off.” 

He walked downstream a short distance, and removing his tunic and boots, waded into the water. His skin was milk white, his muscular shoulders shone in the bright sun as he plunged under then came up, spraying a fountain of water. A rainbow surrounded him briefly as he swung his long hair from side to side, shaking the water out of it. 

Amanda watched, fascinated, attracted. She felt a strange languor somewhere in her body as she observed him, splashing and playing like a young animal. There was a heaviness in the region of her heart and she found it difficult to breathe. He looked up, feeling her gaze upon him and smiled knowingly. She averted her eyes and concentrated on the parcel of food, distracted and confused. In spite of the coolness of her damp clothes, she felt hot, tormented. 

Unwrapping the food, she realized she had no appetite. Randall splashed out of the brook, and came to sit beside her. With dripping hands, he took the bread and cheese, and tore off large hunks, filling his mouth and chewing with obvious enjoyment. Retrieving the wine flagon, he swigged it down in huge gulps. He offered her wine but she declined with a shake of her head. 

“Not hungry?” Randall asked. “It will be late evening before we arrive in the next town. You should eat something, Amanda.” 

“No, I am fine.” She knelt to gather her belongings into the shawl, and the moneybag clinked and swung out from her skirt. 

Randall's eyebrows shot up and he caught his breath, when he saw the purse full of coins. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Where did one such as you get so much money?” he asked harshly. 

“Not that it is any of your business, but it was given to me,” Amanda answered sharply. 

“For what?” he snapped. His eyes were hard, their twinkling blue turned dark, contemptuous. Speculation gleamed in them. 

Amanda felt cold suddenly, wondering why his open friendliness had unexpectedly turned to chill disdain. She had done nothing to earn this contempt. Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed her purse back inside her skirt. She felt off-balance and confused, and it made her angry. She tied her meagre possessions into the bundle and got up, preparing to leave. 

“I thank you for your food and, the use of your horse. I will continue on my own now.” Amanda stepped carefully across the narrow ford, and continued up the road without a backward glance. 

Randall remained as he was, sitting on the bank, watching her walk out of sight. His thoughts were turbulent, and he tried to push her out of his mind, as he strove for the ease he normally felt as he travelled from place to place. 

But the money kept plaguing him. There were only a few ways a peasant girl could get so much money--steal it, or sell herself to men for it. Probably, that was her game, pretend to be helpless, get a man to help her, then steal from him. But, he recalled, she had the opportunity to take his horse and get clean away. She had not. Perhaps because she could not control his horse, or perhaps because she had not thought of it. 

The more he thought about her, the more confused he became. He couldn't figure out what she was, and it annoyed him. She was an enigma but he decided he would solve it and be satisfied. Then he could forget her. 

Randall put on his tunic and boots, and replacing the food into the pannier, mounted his horse. He reined across the ford and urging the horse into a gentle trot, could soon see Amanda not far ahead. 

She heard him coming, and stepped off the road to let him pass. Instead, he pulled up and dismounted. 

“I fear I have made a poor impression upon you, Amanda,” he said, gazing into her eyes with sincerity, the mocking smile absent. “I hope you will forgive me, but I have had some bad experiences with certain kinds of women. It has made me, perhaps, a little too cautious. May we not continue to travel together to the next town?” 

Amanda searched his eyes for a hint of their former contempt. He smiled unaffectedly and she could not restrain herself from returning it. 

“Would you like to ride my horse again?” he asked courteously. 

“Oh, yes,” Amanda replied, stroking the horse's neck as it nuzzled her shoulder. “I have never experienced anything like it. It was like...flying,” she added, excitedly. 

“You are a natural rider, Amanda. Most people take quite a while to get a good seat on a horse. But you seemed to have got it right away. With a few lessons, you could be quite good.” He frowned slightly, suddenly wondering if this was the first time she'd been on a horse. It could be a lie. But why lie about that? 

“Let me show you how to mount a horse,” he offered, as he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung onto the horse's back. It pranced lightly, and Randall settled her with a soft pull on the rein. 

“Now, you try, “ Randall said as he held the horse firmly by the bridle. Amanda fitted her foot in the stirrup and tried several times to mount. The horse sidled nervously, making it more difficult. Amanda and Randall laughed uproariously as she hopped on one foot with the other in the stirrup as the horse kept turning away from her. He showed her once more, and after a couple of attempts, she was in the saddle, beaming proudly. 

Randall then explained how to hold the reins, and to give the horse commands to start, stop, and turn. It was a world of delight to Amanda as the horse obeyed her, as she used the reins and her legs to guide the horse. 

“Next time you gallop the horse,” he said with a laugh, “you may not end up in the stream.” 

Amanda grinned with pleasure as she took the horse through a series of manoeuvres, with each move gaining more confidence in her abilities. “I shall have to get a horse of my own,” she said blithely. “I had no notion that these beasts could be so enjoyable. My only experience with horses has been driving a cart. Draft horses can be quite difficult and unpredictable.” 

“How would you like to spend your day yoked to a wagon?” Randall asked. 

“I have no intention of ever finding out,” she retorted gaily. 

**** 

Amanda guided the horse without Randall holding the reins, but after about a mile, she halted. 

“Can this horse not bear two?” she asked. “I feel it is wrong for me to make you walk while I ride.” 

“Yes, I suppose,” he answered. He jumped up behind Amanda, startling the horse and making it prance. “Just keep her to a walk. It's a long drop to the ground if I lose my balance,” he warned, taking note of the roguish look that lit her eyes when the spirited horse seemed about to bolt. 

“I have been meaning to ask you, Amanda. Why were you weeping at the crossroads this morning. In fact, what are you doing travelling alone? Are you running away from something?” His mouth was close to her ear, his warm breath tickled and she shivered. He smiled secretly at her reaction. 

“I am not running away,” she answered levelly. “I am going to meet someone.” 

He waited for more, but Amanda seemed to feel that this was enough. He tried again. “Who are you going to meet, and where are you going?” 

“I'm going to Paris.” A long silence developed as Randall hoped she would add to this statement, but again, she was not forthcoming. She stared ahead, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Abruptly, she asked, “How far is it to Paris?” 

“Many days travel from here. Paris is a large and dangerous place for a woman alone. Who are you to meet there?” 

She didn't answer and he realized she would not give away any more than she wished to. _What is she hiding,_ he wondered. Randall encircled her waist with his arms, feeling her stiffen with surprise, then relax. He smiled again. “I beg your pardon, Amanda, but I need to hold onto you for balance,” he explained, close to her ear. Her sharply indrawn breath made him grin, and he began to enjoy this little game he was playing with her. 

“Where are you going, Randall?” she asked. Her voice sound a bit breathless, and he suppressed a laugh. _That would spoil everything,_ he reminded himself. 

“I have no particular place in mind. I just go from town to town, castle to castle, telling stories, singing songs and bringing news and gossip to the various courts. Just a travelling bard, with no home of my own. Always on the road to somewhere,” he finished airily, as if there was no other life for anyone. 

He was pleased that she showed an interest in him. It added some zest to this game. She seemed innocent, but it must be a ruse. No woman could have that much money about her and be innocent, in his experience. Sooner or later, she would show her true colours. In the meantime, he would continue his own game and see where it would lead. 

To while away the long ride, Randall began to retail her with some naughty gossip, and bawdy tavern jokes. The colour rose in her cheeks as she reprimanded him for his impertinence. He sang a few love ballads, so close to her ear that it seemed he was her lover sighing out his hopeless passion. He moved his lips to her neck, brushing gently, feeling her shiver. 

Abruptly, she reined the horse in, and slid down from the saddle. Her eyes snapped with indignation as she tossed him the reins. “I feel I am safer on the ground. Good day to you, sir!” She stood patiently waiting for him to move off and leave her. 

“Amanda. If I have been importunate, it is only because I have been swept away by your charms,” he said sincerely, gazing steadily into her eyes. “I shall die of a broken heart if you send me away,” he vowed. 

She sensed the mockery under his words, and her stare hardened. “I will not be treated like a tavern wench!” she declared hotly. “I come of a good family, equal to your own. If you cannot treat me with respect, then begone!” With that, Amanda started to walk away. 

The afternoon sun warmed her back as she marched down the road, her whole mien rigid with indignation. _What does he think I am,_ she wondered angrily. Her village had no tavern or tavern wenches, but the epithet had been hurled at her once by her mother. Amanda had not understood the implication and asked her father to explain. He stammered out an explanation that raised the colour in her cheeks, not only from embarrassment, but also from anger that her mother would speak thus to her. 

The priests had warned the young girls in her village against the sins of the flesh, how easy it was to fall. Dire warnings from the Bible were drummed into their heads of fallen women who suffered for their sins, who were stoned to death for adultery. Until now, Amanda had dismissed them as just stories, like the faerie stories of goblins and trolls. _Is this how one is lead into sin,_ she wondered, _with honeyed words and soft touches?_ She felt herself flushing with chagrin. The Tempter takes many forms, the young girls had been told. _Does the Devil wear fine clothes and sing beautiful sad love songs?_ She shook her head as if to rid her memory of his melodic voice as it whispered in her ear. 

Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this man with his fine manners and his mocking arrogance. Amanda determined to have nothing further to do with him as she continued to put some distance between them. She could feel his eyes on her back. _What was he thinking?_

Randall sat his horse for a long while, watching her, once again, walking away from him. He felt a vague sense of loss, as if something that belonged to him had been snatched away. Abruptly, he kneed his horse into a gallop and passed Amanda with a spray of flying clods and grass. 

Amanda watched him disappear with relief, but oddly, left her feeling more bereft and alone than before. He had been charming, entertaining company, and the day seemed to pass swiftly. Now, as she trudged along, she realized how much she had left behind her. The quiet solidity of her village where she knew everyone, and even had a few friends, the stability of convent life where decisions were made for her, those she had thought of as her family, all gone. She was truly alone in the world. 

**** 

As the twilight deepened into dark, Amanda halted on the road. The smoke of a wood fire carried on the warm breeze, accompanied by the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat. Her empty, rumbling stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since early morning. As she continued to walk toward the scent, she viewed a glimmer of light ahead, near the road edge. Its flickering drew her like a moth to a flame, until, getting close enough to see the lone figure seated beside the campfire, she grunted with disgust. Randall! 

As Amanda approached, he stood up and gave her a courtly bow. “Pray join me at my lonely repast,” he called. “There is rabbit enough here for two.” 

_Well, why not?_ she shrugged to herself. _What could it hurt to partake of his meal?_ She had to admit she might have been a little hasty in her judgment of Randall. Besides, she was half-starved and the meat on the spit was very tempting. 

Aloud, she replied, “I am already obliged to you for my earlier meal. But, if you wish it, I will join you gladly. I am famished.” 

Amanda moved off the road and seated herself on the opposite side of the fire. Its warmth and light were welcome after her long trek. She smiled with pleasure as she accepted a portion of the roasted rabbit. Blissfully, she tore off bits of the crisp skin and succulent flesh, relishing the fragrant gamey taste with every mouthful. 

“You can't enjoy roast meat without this,” Randall said, flourishing the wineskin. He poured a large measure into a pewter goblet, and offered it to her. She shook her head. “Try it before you say nay. I guarantee it will enhance the flavour.” 

Amanda took a tentative sip, and found it did indeed add to her pleasure in the meal. The meat and wine blended wonderfully. She finished the goblet and Randall refilled it. Her head felt a little strange, and she laughed for no other reason than that she was comfortably full and warm by the fire. She emptied the goblet and again found it refilled, almost magically. This too seemed incredibly funny, and she laughed again as her head swam giddily and she nearly lost her balance. 

Randall picked up his lute and came to sit closer to her. He began to strum an old ballad, singing its sad verses with charming sweetness. Amanda felt as if the sentiment of longing to be loved, and never having it, was meant for her. She ached with melancholy, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Randall smiled furtively, and changed the tempo to something more lively, and a bit bawdy. He urged her to join in the chorus, and soon she was merry again. He refilled the wine goblet. 

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

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	3. The Fledgling: Part Three

The Fledgling Part 3 by Chimera

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_**The Fledgling**_

Part Three   
By Maril Swan aka Chimera © May 2000 

* * *

Her mouth tasted of ashes and her tongue seemed cleaved to her palette. She was chilled and shivering as she slowly opened her eyes into the grey dawn. Her cheek was pressed against something soft, and hazily, she recognized it -- her gown. Puzzled, she tried to raise herself and realized why she was so cold. Her shawl was all that was covering her. Shocked, she sat upright, setting off an explosion of pain in her head, and causing her stomach to roil. She retched, worsening the hammering inside her skull. Never had she felt so ill. 

Pushing herself to her feet, Amanda folded the shawl more closely about her, as she searched for some water. Her throat was raw and her mouth so dry, she could hardly swallow. A short distance from the cold ashes of the fire, there was a small stream. She staggered to its edge, trembling with cold, and knelt down to drink deeply. Feeling slightly better, she washed her face. Her head cleared a little. 

_What had happened?_ Her memory was fogged by the wine, and all she could recollect was Randall's sweet voice, singing her love songs, and then, a kiss. _No,_ she remembered suddenly, _there was more. He had said he loved her, yes, he said he was mad for her, and then..._ She groaned, and closed her eyes, as the scene flashed into her memory. But, she rationalized, he told her that this is how men and women show their love for each other, that made it all right. She smiled tentatively. _Of course, it was all right, he loved her._ She looked about for Randall, but there was no sign of him. With a shudder of dread, she realized, he was gone. 

She stood unsteadily, gazing around the dawning forest, at the ghostly wisps of mist curling around the trees, listening for any human sound, any sound at all. An eerie silence persisted as if the forest were holding its breath. As she was holding hers, trying not to give in to the desperation that threatened to overwhelm her. A terrible thought occurred to her. 

_He wouldn't,_ she thought, _he couldn't have..._ Amanda bent to her crumpled gown and picked it up. The thong which tied the purse inside her skirt was cut. Her money was gone! She felt panic beginning to engulf her as she shook the gown in case she was mistaken. A silver coin fell from its folds and clinked on the ground. _Payment? A token of his contempt?_

A howl of outrage and pain burst from her as she clenched the coin in her fist, preparing to hurl it far into the forest. But she stopped herself. It was all the money she had. With trembling fingers, Amanda loosened some stitches from the hem of her gown and squeezed the coin in, securing it by drawing the thread tight. 

As the sky lightened, she knew she had no choice but to go on. First, she would wash away the shame of her seduction. Despite the chill of the morning air and the bracing cold of the stream, she waded in and bathed, scrubbing her skin vigorously with sand. Drying with the shawl, she put on her gown. 

Her comb and other personal articles were scattered around where she had slept. She tied them into the shawl and found her way back onto the road. 

**** 

The sun hovered overhead as Amanda trudged along the dirt road. It almost seemed she was the only mortal left in the world. She passed no habitations or other travellers. Her headache had cleared, but the melancholy remained. Since early morning she had run the gamut of emotions from anger to guilt, from outrage to self-pity. She felt burnt out, destroyed. 

The longer she walked, the more keenly she felt betrayed and the angrier she became. Her heart was set on vengeance at the last, an act she had never considered before, no matter what the harm done to her. Amanda held no grudges against anyone, though she was all too often the object of other's retribution. Now, she solaced herself with visions of her own retaliation should she ever meet with her seducer. He would suffer, she promised herself, in the same measure as he had caused her to suffer. She smiled grimly and drawing in a deep breath, straightened herself, and began to pace more swiftly as if she had some destination in mind. 

From behind, Amanda caught the sound of a wagon, rattling along the road. As it drew nearer, she could see it was a sturdy cart, pulled by a heavy-boned black horse. She stepped out of the way, waiting for it to pass. Instead, the driver pulled rein and stopped. She looked him over warily, as he also mistrustfully regarded her. 

His blue, rather pig-like eyes squinted at her watchfully from the florid, glistening vastness of his round face. A battered felt hat, stained with sweat, sat on his sandy hair and he scratched his large belly thoughtfully with a beefy red hand. He looked perplexed at finding a lone woman on the road in these dangerous times. 

“Where are you going, girl?” he asked. “Don't you know what could happen to a woman travelling alone these days?” 

Amanda laughed bitterly, and said, “I have nothing to fear. But, good sir, I would welcome a rest from my weary trudging. Would you allow me to ride with you for a distance?” 

The driver looked her over, considering if she could pay for such a favour, and deciding by her appearance, she could not, replied, “It is a small thing to ask, and I would welcome the company of such a comely maid. The road is long and lonely for a carter.” With that, he reached out his hand to help Amanda onto the bench beside him. His hand was clammy with sweat. 

She glanced back into the wagon and saw many packages, wrapped in various cloths. She was curious. “What is in those parcels, sir?” 

“Trade goods, mostly. I deliver goods, receive the payment and take a fee for myself. It is a good business, but a lonely one. Usually, one of my children accompanies me but my wife fears the plague, which now rages in Rouen and Paris. So far, we have been spared in our small town.” 

“There is plague in Paris?” Amanda's heart sank. How could she go there now to seek her benefactress, with the threat of death from plague? 

“Rouen has been sacked by Norsemen, and Paris is in peril. Nowhere is safe near the Seine. Those devils in longboats destroy everything in their path. If you are thinking of going to Paris, think again. The plague is bad enough, you might even survive it. But the Norsemen, with a maid who looks like you...” He gestured openly with his hands. 

He had left the sentiment unfinished, but Amanda's imagination finished it for him. She shuddered. _Where could she go now,_ she wondered. Impulsively, she asked, “Is there work in your town for a freewoman?” 

With a slow calculating look, the carter's eyes took in her appearance and he seemed to come to some decision. An crafty smile stole over his features for a moment, and Amanda sensed danger. 

“My own mother could use a maid. She is infirm and needs much help. My wife and daughters are very kind to her but she requires more than they can do. Mama insists on living in her own house. She will not come to live with me. Very independent, and a bit cranky too,” he laughed with fondness. “ It needs a lot of patience to deal with her. Would you wish to work as a maid?” he asked, taking in her unkempt appearance. _There was something different about this girl,_ he thought. _Her clothing is that of a peasant, but her face belongs to the nobility._ The work seemed beneath one such as she. 

To his surprise, she answered, “If your mother agrees to hire me, I will work for her. How shall I be paid?” 

The carter studied the road for a few moments, as if considering this weighty question. Finally, he replied, “You will receive board and lodging and a monthly stipend. Would that be sufficient? 

Amanda required to know how much the stipend would be, and for several minutes, they haggled over the amount. The meagre wage he would pay was so low, she was insulted, and disgustedly considered refusing the post. The silver coin in her hem was more than what he offered as a whole year's wage! Yet, she had to accept in the end as she saw no options before her. Rather sullenly, she said, “I agree to your terms, sir, if your mother will accept me.” 

The carter gave Amanda a self-satisfied smirk, congratulating himself on his hard bargaining, his shrewdness in getting a slavey for such a wage. And, he thought, his eyes sliding over her graceful body with a lecherous, lingering glance, _perhaps even more could be got from her than work._ She seemed desperate enough for money, he speculated, taking in her dishevelled appearance, what might she not do for him? 

Amanda turned and caught a glimpse of the lascivious look in his porcine eyes, and forced herself not to recoil. Taking a deep breath she said, “My name in Amanda. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” 

The carter seemed pleased by her deferential manner. It boded well for what he had in mind. He introduced himself. “I am Aeglfinn. My mother is Ghislaine. We live in the village of Beauchamps. It is a small place, but we have a fine church, plus a manor house. Our seigneur, Comte Geoffrey de Beauchamps, has several large farms and many serfs. He protects us from those Viking devils with his men-at-arms.” 

These things did not trouble Amanda. She was more concerned what sort of woman Ghislaine would turn out to be. _This is not what I would have thought my life would be,_ she admitted to herself. In fact, she acknowledged, her expectations were hazy at best, when she thought about her future. But, it certainly did not include being a servant in someone's house. And at a serf's wage. 

She was downcast but realized her situation was now quite precarious with the loss of her purse, and any work was better than none. With no money, rather haphazard domestic skills and no man to support her, Amanda knew she was lucky to find this position with Aeglfinn's mother. She would have to make the best of it. 

**** 

Amanda was enchanted by the countryside. It was the furthest she had ever been from her home, and everything seemed exotic, strange and wonderful. As they passed the farms, Aeglfinn would point out what was growing there, who the farm folk belonged to. Her gloom dissipated as she began to hope that this would be a new start for her, in this land where no one knew her. 

The village of Beauchamps came into view after they had passed miles of tilled farm fields, cattle and sheep pens, barns and byres. The land looked fertile and new green shoots poked up from the dark rows. So different from her own river valley, the land was flat and expansive, with the fields cleared and fringed by hedgerows. 

Beauchamps followed the usual plan of villages which were dependent upon a manor. On either side of the main road, the rude cottages of the villeins lay, their properties stretching out behind the huts as long, narrow fields. These fields or crofts were farmed by serfs who subsisted on their own produce and paid a tithe to the seigneur in exchange for his protection. Serfs were tied to their liege lord almost like slaves. They could not move off his lands without his permission, nor marry unless he gave them leave. Like a stern parent, the seigneur wielded almost absolute power over all the lives within his demesne. 

Being a freewoman, Amanda had little understanding of the manorial system which existed in villages like Beauchamps. She had no experience with serfdom, other than viewing the endless toil of the labourers, and having shared in that toil for a short while on the Abbey farm, understood the wretchedness of their lives. She had always felt her family was a class above that of the serfs, and paid them scant attention, almost as if they were beasts in the fields. 

It was with that view that Amanda and the carter drove past the sweating labourers, hardly noticing the folk who scythed the hay or piled the haywains. She thought it made a pretty sight, the peasants at their work, the bright sun casting harsh shadows on the ground, and the warm breeze blowing the chaff around like snow. 

“Here we are,” said Aeglfinn, halting the wagon in front of thatched roof cottage near the centre of the village. The road opened into a large common and the cottage stood back from this greensward. The small patch of ground in front of the hut was surrounded by a twig fence, which penned in a small flock of chickens. They fluttered in alarm as Amanda and the carter descended from the wagon. 

Aeglfinn held out a restraining hand to Amanda as she was about to follow him through the gate. “Wait here, and I will speak to my mother.” He went inside the cottage, leaving Amanda standing by the wagon. 

In the road dust, she saw something glitter. It seemed to be a couple of coins. Aeglfinn must have dropped them when he got down from the wagon. She glanced about to see if anyone was watching and bent to pick them up. For a moment, Amanda considered returning the money to Aeglfinn, then recalling his miserly haggling over her wage, she squeezed the coins in her hand. Bending down as if to tie her shoes, she placed a coin in each. A slight twinge of conscience assailed her, but then with a sly smile she thought, _these coins amount to about two month's wages._ It would help to make up the difference in what she thought her labour was worth. 

Sudden exhilaration seized her, and she suppressed a giggle. There were definitely easier ways to get money, she decided. Her spirits rose and she felt stronger somehow. He was trying to take advantage of her, and she had outwitted him. It felt good. She was still smiling when Aeglfinn came out of the cottage and beckoned to her. 

Nervously, Amanda entered the dim interior of the cottage. The smell of things rotting, excrement and other noxious odours greeted her, and she tried not to breathe. But the stink of the unclean house was almost overpowering. The soot-blackened walls reflected little of the light that came in from the door and small windows. In the gloom, she could see Aeglfinn standing near a cot on which a very old woman sat propped. 

The earthen floor was damp and slippery, and Amanda tried not to see what she was stepping on as she crossed the room, avoiding as she went, the dogs which skulked and growled as she passed. Reaching the cot, she waited for the woman to speak. 

Amanda's first impression of Ghislaine was of a sharp-beaked bird of prey. The old woman's beady black eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on the young girl, and she sucked at gums which were long bereft of teeth. Her shrunken body seemed bony and frail, but her severe face with its great hooked nose and those piercing eyes still showed a stubborn strength. 

Amanda sensed the woman was taking her measure, and finding her wanting. _Perhaps,_ she thought, half-hopefully, _she will not hire me._ She did not relish spending any more time in this reeking, gloomy house. 

But to her surprise, the old woman cleared her throat, spitting on the floor, and said in a raspy high pitched voice, “Come closer, girl. Let me look at you.” She nodded approvingly to Aeglfinn and he sighed with relief. “You're big for a girl. Are you strong?” 

“Yes, madame,” Amanda replied respectfully. 

“What were you doing wandering around by yourself, girl? Are you a whore?” the old woman asked, her voice strident as she peered myopically at Amanda. 

“No! Madame, I was looking for work. Your son offered me a job and I am willing to undertake it, if you wish to hire me.” Amanda felt her face flush with embarrassment, glad of the dimness to cover her anger. 

“Well, girl, we will see if you are worth your keep. Bring in my packages, and I will tell you what your duties will be. Aeglfinn, show the girl which parcels are mine,” she said sharply to her son. He hastened to the door, and Amanda followed, glad to get out into the fresh air. 

“I think she likes you, Amanda,” Aeglfinn stated, as he piled some parcels into her arms. “Your work will be light. I just wanted someone to care for her. You can see how frail she is.” 

Amanda met this with an incredulous stare. _Frail?_ she thought. _The old harridan rules her son like he was still a child. Her limbs might be weak but her mind and her tongue are sharp enough!_ She deliberated leaving and trying her luck elsewhere, but hunger made her feel desperate. She had not eaten that day, and was beginning to feel light-headed, especially after the fetid atmosphere of that room. 

“Take these inside, and unpack them. I must continue on my deliveries. I shall see you tomorrow.” With that, the carter hauled himself onto the bench and clucking to the horse, rumbled off down the road. 

Amanda stood uncertainly for several seconds, then with a heavy sigh, entered her new employer's house to begin her duties. 

**** 

“She can't cook, she can't sew, she's disobedient and lazy...” Ghislaine's shrill voice carried out of the cottage into the croft garden where Amanda was pulling weeds. The old woman was nagging at her son as usual. Amanda was glad it was his turn this time. For three weeks she had borne the brunt of Ghislaine's evil temper. 

Upon entering her service, Amanda has set about cleaning the cottage to a habitable condition. In her former home and in the convent, she had learned to keep her surroundings clean and tidy. The cottage disgusted her with its smell and the garbage that lay everywhere. She could not live like this. 

Amanda went to the carpenter's shop and got a sack of sawdust. She spread this on the greasy floor, explaining to Ghislaine that she would be less likely to slip on it. The woody scent soon overlaid most of the other odours. She also picked catmint and lavender, and sprinkled these around. In a few days, the air in the cottage was distinctly improved. She then concentrated on clearing out the piles of refuse that mouldered in heaps near Ghislaine's cot, burying them in a midden that she dug at the end of the garden. 

All the while, Ghislaine nagged and complained, ordering her to do the most menial tasks. The old woman scarcely moved from her cot except to relieve herself in the back privy. From dawn to dark, Ghislaine's piercing voice followed Amanda, always carping and never satisfied by anything she did. Amanda had decided that when she received her month's wages, she would leave. 

Now, listening to her cavilling at Aeglfinn over her shortcomings, Amanda seethed with indignation. Everyone in the vicinity could hear her! _The evil old witch,_ Amanda thought. _I hope when I grow old, I never turn into a miserable creature like her!_ She ripped ferociously at the weeds, uprooting some vegetables as well. 

“Mother, I have an idea that will make us more money than you ever dreamed of,” Aeglfinn said. His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper. “Where is the girl now?” 

Amanda sensed he was about to say something about her. Intrigued, she slipped closer to the cottage, and caught the last of what he was proposing. 

“...and each man will pay in coin for her. What do you think, Mama? At least, as you have said, she will earn her keep.” 

Amanda could hear the wheedling in his voice, as he strove for her approval. She could almost feel sorry for him, having such a mother. Not waiting to hear Ghislaine's answer, Amanda went back to the garden, trying to fathom what she had heard. _What was she to do for money? Was she to share in it?_ Somehow, she didn't think so. This was some financial arrangement between mother and son for some work, which she would do. But for what work was she suited that men would pay in coin? 

A chill invaded her suddenly as a thought crept into her mind. No, they could not mean that! It was too wicked to contemplate. But, what else could it be? Ghislaine's first question to her was, are you a whore? Did they think to make her one? In spite of the warmth of the autumn sun, Amanda shuddered. She had felt disgusted by Aeglfinn's lecherous looks and his efforts to touch her whenever he got near her. Amanda had learned to keep a safe distance. Was this his way of retaliating for repulsing his advances? 

Lost in her own thoughts, Amanda started when a shadow fell across her, and Aeglfinn said, curtly, “Tomorrow you will accompany me on my errands. I will need extra help for a few days.” 

“Why not take one of your children? Your mother needs me here.” 

He leered at her with a mean smirk. His porcine eyes gleamed with greed as he watched her stand up. She was taller by several inches, and he let his gaze travel over her with evident lust. Her face must have shown her aversion, as he said, “A woman's place is at the command of a man. You will do as you are told. I am your master!” With that he went back into the cottage, where Amanda could hear a hushed conversation, punctuated by Ghislaine's nasty cackling laugh. 

**** 

The sky was barely light when Aeglfinn rattled up to the cottage in his wagon. Amanda stepped out into the cool dawn. There was the hint of winter coming. The air was bracing and fresh. She climbed onto the bench beside Aeglfinn and he clucked the horse into a slow gait out of the still sleeping village. 

He glanced at the girl beside him. And grinned wickedly, congratulating himself on his fine idea. His mother was proud of him. He would make them both rich. 

She was hardly aware of his scrutiny, wandering in her own inner landscape. Amanda had already decided to leave, this new turn of events hastening her departure. She had made a hasty plan, and just waited for the time to be right. 

The two travellers rode in silence as the sun rose higher to warm them and they began to pass other travellers going in the opposite direction. Amanda wondered where he was taking her, as they passed through several small villages. Around mid-day, they arrived at the outskirts of a town and drove down the main road into its centre. 

Amanda stared around in fascination. She had never seen so many buildings of so many types. Aware of her interest, Aeglfinn pointed out the purposes of some of the structures. 

“That is the local inn,” he said, “And there is the weaver's, the tanner's, the tinsmith...” Aeglfinn seemed to know all the businesses in the town. He drew up in the town square near the well, and climbed down. “Wait here,” he ordered as he turned toward the inn and disappeared inside. 

Amanda could hear a sudden commotion of loud male voices and laughter. A few faces appeared at the inn window. She felt the scrutiny of many eyes. Rage began to seethe within her as she waited for Aeglfinn to return. She searched the town for a place of refuge or a way to escape. 

He strode back from the inn, wiping ale foam from his lips, wearing a self-satisfied grin. Climbing back onto the bench he flicked the traces and the cart started forward. 

“Have we no business in this town, Aeglfinn?” Amanda asked, trying to keep her voice level She was beginning to tremble with dread, not knowing what he planned to do with her. 

“Soon enough,” he chuckled, shooting her a malicious look. 

As they left the town, Amanda glanced back to see they were being followed by some men. The cart topped a hill and they were lost to sight. It was then she jumped from the moving wagon, and clambering over the stone fence which bordered the road, ran into the fields toward a small woods. Her breath seared her throat as she raced into the trees, searching for a place to hide. It was an old woods with not much undergrowth she realized with panic. No cover. She ran on for what seemed an eternity, finally seeing a field on the far side of the woods. 

The serfs gathering grain stared in amazement at the girl running toward them, her gown torn and her face flushed with exertion. She rushed into the middle of the group of women stooking sheaves, and panted, “Your master sent me to help with the harvest.” She made a shooing motion at them and the serfs, exchanging puzzled looks, went on with their work. 

Seeing a young lad with a wooden pail and pannikin, Amanda accosted him and dipping out a large draught of water, drank thirstily, then poured some water over her neck. Her strange actions attracted the attention of the workers, but she joined the women and began tying and stooking the sheaves with enough skill to allay their mistrust of a stranger somewhat. 

She laughed with the exhilaration of her escape, and especially, the prize she had taken from Aeglfinn's vicious mother. After hearing of their plans for her, she had decided she would not leave empty-handed. A few weeks earlier, while cleaning the cottage, she had discovered a pouch of coins hidden in a jar of herbs. Last night as Ghislaine lay snoring noisily on her cot, Amanda had stealthily taken the purse from the jar, refilling it with herbs. The leather pouch was now tied securely under her skirt where she felt its comforting weight, causing her to laugh again. 

The autumn sun was hot, and the chaff from the grain stuck to her, itching madly. But Amanda stayed with the serfs, sharing their labour while wondering when it might be safe to get back onto the road. As they worked, the serfs chatted in Gaelic, a language with which Amanda had scant familiarity. Her foster father, Cedric, spoke it sometimes and had taught Amanda some basic phrases. She knew they were talking about her, but could not understand enough to catch their meaning. 

“I am Amanda,” she said in Gaelic, causing a moment of confusion, then broad smiles as several women and men also introduced themselves. Her use of their own tongue seemed to calm any lingering doubts about her being what she said she was, and the serfs accepted her as of one their own. She took comfort in their warm stolidity. 

One of the women suddenly said, “Ah, here comes our meal.” The serfs stopped work for a moment, watching the approach of a wagon coming toward them from the end of the field, accompanied by a rider on horseback. Seeing the rider, the serfs exchanged looks, and busied themselves with the grain harvest. 

Amanda understood the word _meal_ , but wondered why the rider caused them concern. She bent back to work, her hands sore from blisters and splinters of straw. When she had done serf work before, as a penance on the Abbey farm, she had vowed she would never again labour like a beast in the field. Yet, here she was, sneezing from the flying chaff, her gown stuck to her like a second skin, and so ravenously hunger, she felt faint. The prospect of food made her mouth water. She would join their meal, then leave as soon as she could. 

The wagon stopped a short distance from the serfs, and the driver got down and threw back a canvas covering the back of the wagon. Amanda could see loaves of bread, cheeses, meat, as well as several flagons. The women came forward and began to pass the food around, taking some for themselves and going to rest under the trees bordering the field. Amanda accepted a portion and joined them. 

The rider had alighted from his horse and was checking the grain, squeezing the kernels in his fingers. He seemed satisfied, and smiled at the workers, his smile disappearing when he encountered Amanda's face in the group. He looked puzzled then suspicious. He beckoned her over. 

Amanda had been watching him covertly, wondering who he was. He was just under her own height with the sturdy build of a man of the land. His ruddy face was surrounded by pale blond hair, and she could see just a whisp of beard at his chin. He wore a white linen blouse, trimmed with colourful borders, overtopped by a dark brown tunic tied at the waist with a leather belt from which hung a knife and a sword. His leggings were of a lighter brown and his hose were gaitered with red leather thongs which tied just under his knee. She thought by his demeanour, he must be the steward, though he was richly dressed. 

Amanda had managed only a few mouthfuls of food, and now feared she would be sent away before she could satisfy her hunger. With as much deference as she could muster, she genuflected to him, and waited for him to speak. 

“Who are you? What are you doing in my fields, girl?” he demanded, his cold blue eyes narrowing as he glared at this stranger among the farm serfs. 

“I am just a peasant girl looking for work, sir,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered. She added, “I hoped if you saw how well I can work, you might hire me for the harvest, sir.” 

He was clearly at a loss to deal with her. No one had ever voluntarily come to work as a serf that he had ever heard. Frowning, he asked, “How long have you been working here?” 

“Since early this morning, sir,” Amanda said, venturing a look at him. 

Coming to a decision, he said abruptly, “Finish your meal, and then go. I don't need any more workers.” Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he pulled out a coin and handed it to her. “Your day's wages.” With that, he strode back to his horse, and was about to mount, when he stopped, and took another long look at her. A considering glance crossed his face and he returned to her, leading his horse. 

“Maybe we do have some work for you, girl. Come up to the manor when you have eaten. You may ride back on the wagon.” He mounted and cantered up the field, leaving Amanda in a quandary. 

Should she take up the offer of work, or go on down the road? Was Aeglfinn anywhere nearby? Perhaps she would just see what he was offering then decide. Amanda went back to the women's group and finished her meal. The other workers now regarded her with their former suspicion and she felt their chilly disapproval. 

She helped the women pick up the remnants of the meal, and put it back into the cart. She climbed onto the bench and the driver clucked the horse into a walk toward the manor house. 

From their vantage point, Amanda could see nothing of the manor, as the cart slowly made its way down the edge of the fields, avoiding the stooked grain. A small woods lay at the end of the field and as they drove through it, Amanda caught sight of a large red building. At first, she thought it was a church, but as they drew nearer, realized it was surrounded by many outbuildings. The cart track passed barns, byres and stables, as well as chicken coops, a brewery, smithy and then wound around a large pond, behind which the manor stood grandly reflected on its serene surface. 

Amanda was quite unprepared for this splendour and gasped aloud. The driver nodded and said, “The seigneur, Gilbert de Bretagne, is a very rich man, as you can see. But he is a good master.” He stopped the cart in front of the manor, allowing Amanda to alight, then drove around behind the imposing building. 

The rider from the field strode out of the stable toward her, as Amanda hung back, irresolute, fearing to enter such a grand place. He took her arm, ungently, and propelled her to the entrance. 

“Does your master allow you to enter his abode so familiarly?” Amanda asked, her voice hushed, as she gazed around at the vaulted ceilings and walls of the great hall into which they had entered. Along the walls, below the stained glass clerestory windows, were banners, weapons, coats of arms. It was an awesome sight to a girl raised in a small village. She felt diminished, out of her depth, and oppressed by the sheer weight of all that stone. 

Impatiently he said, “I am the master here. Follow me.” He walked swiftly to a doorway and up a narrow spiral staircase which turned right throughout its height. He stepped through another doorway into a corridor and, with Amanda at his heels, he stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked. 

A muffled reply bade him enter. He left Amanda in the corridor where she could hear a muted conversation between the master and a woman. The door opened, and he beckoned her to come into the room. 

Inside it was hot and airless, and smelt of sickness. At the far end of the large room was a canopied bed, its curtains drawn aside so Amanda could see a woman lying there propped on white pillows. She favoured Amanda with a disdainful glance then to the man said, “Gilbert, it is too vexing to train a new girl. Lenore can do for me. She doesn't mind.” 

“Eleanor,” he said gently, “You need someone stronger to help you get around. Lenore is too weak. And you cannot have a man tending to your personal needs. This peasant girl is big and strong. She is used to hard work. Look at her. She will do for you.” He entreated her kindly, but the woman seemed to mistrust Amanda on first sight. Her narrowed gaze suggested suspicion and something more, dislike. 

“Where did she come from?” Eleanor asked him, as if Amanda were invisible. Gilbert shrugged. 

Amanda tried to suppress the indignation that boiled within as they continued to talk about her as if she were a dumb animal. She tried not to let her anger show, but finally, when Eleanor suggested that Amanda was not intelligent enough to carry out her duties, she burst out with, “Madame, perhaps if you or the master could enlighten me as to what my duties might be, I could answer for myself.” 

Her angry dark eyes flashed from the man to the woman as they both regarded her as if a horse had spoken. It was all Amanda could do to not to laugh. 

“I see she is insolent,” Eleanor said, continuing to ignore Amanda. “I will not stand for that in a servant,” she added, pointedly looking at Gilbert. 

Gilbert turned to address Amanda. “I know you are just a peasant girl but you will learn to speak to your lady with proper respect, if you wish to remain here.” 

“Excuse me, madame,” Amanda said, lowering her eyes. “I do wish to know what will be required of me, if you accept me.” 

Eleanor laid back on her soft pillows as if the conversation had exhausted her. Her wan face seemed sunken and the dark smudges under her eyes betokened her ill health. She waved wearily at Gilbert and said, “Have her if you like, husband. Let Lenore tell her what she is to do. Now, please leave me, for this wrangling has quite worn me out.” She turned her head and closed her eyes, allowing for no further dialogue. 

Gilbert hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Amanda to follow him into the corridor. He strode down the stone staircase and in the great hall, beckoned to a servant. “Bring Lenore to me. I wish to speak with her.” 

“My wife has lost our latest child and has not recovered her health so quickly this time. She needs to carried from her bed to her bath, and other personal needs. Do you understand, girl?” Amanda nodded. 

He studied Amanda for a long moment, and seemed about to say something more but a young girl of about fourteen appeared at the end of the hall accompanied by the servant. She was petite, with the same fair hair as her father, and the bluest eyes Amanda had ever seen. She was richly gowned with fine jewelled brooches on either shoulder, and walked with the sedate dignity of a princess. Lenore simpered at her father, then directed a haughty glance at Amanda, dismissing her as of no importance. 

Unused to this arrogance, Amanda found herself again focusing on the floor to avoid Lenore seeing the anger in her eyes. _These nobles,_ she thought, _treat others as dirt under their feet. I shall not put up with it. I am a freewoman, after all._ Thus reassuring herself, she raised her eyes to meet Lenore's and was surprised by the calculating malevolence that flashed there momentarily. 

“Lenore,” her father began, “you will instruct this girl - what is your name?” 

“Amanda, sir.” 

“You will instruct Amanda in her duties of caring for your mother. This will relieve you of that burden, my dear child. Amanda is more suited to this type of work than you.” Gilbert kissed his daughter on the top of her head, and without a look at Amanda, went out of the hall. 

The two girls eyed each other for several moments, then Lenore said, “Well, girl, if you are to look after Mama, then come with me. I will show you what to do.” 

“Where shall I stay, mademoiselle?” Amanda asked. 

“You may share Yolande's room. I will introduce you. Follow me.” 

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

* * *  
  
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	4. The Fledgling: Part Four

The Fledgling Part 4 by Chimera

| 

_**The Fledgling**_

Part Four   
By Maril Swan aka Chimera © May 2000 

* * *

_Late Fall, de Bretagne Manor, 848 AD_

Heavy rain rattled against the mullioned windows as the wind moaned and shrieked around the manor. Fall was turning quickly into winter. The chill damp of the large building seemed to seep into Amanda's bones, as she shivered, drawing her shawl more closely. 

The room she shared with Yolande, the cook's helper, was very small, and the girls shared the single cot. Even huddling close together for warmth did not overcome the chill of the unheated room. Amanda could see her breath as she talked quietly with Yolande. 

Two months had passed since entering the seigneur's household. The manor had become nearly as familiar as her old home or the convent. Caring for Eleanor was taxing and tedious but after her stint with Ghislaine, the noble lady seemed much easier to bear. Her ill health kept her confined to her rooms, and Amanda had to lift her to her commode chair, bathe and dress her, bring her meals and any other menial service she demanded. 

Perhaps it was the sullen sky, or the discomfort of being cold, but Amanda's spirits were low. She sighed heavily, expelling a large puff of steaming breath. 

“Do you ever wish for adventure, Yolande?” Amanda asked the other girl. 

Yolande, a scrawny plain girl of about seventeen, peered at Amanda as if she were speaking a foreign language. “Adventure? What do you mean, Amanda?” 

“Being free to go where you want, do exciting things like going into battle, travel to strange places. Haven't you ever wanted to do that?” Amanda stared dreamily into the dark room, its single candle casting large shadows against the walls. 

Yolande snorted derisively. “No! I don't fancy getting killed in battle, or drowning in the sea. I like it here just fine. Cook hardly ever beats me, I get lots to eat, and I'm safe. What more should I want?” 

“There must be more to life than this,” Amanda gazed moodily at her companion. “What about love? Finding a true love who will adore you and give you beautiful children. Don't you want that, Yolande?” 

“I helped birth babies down at the serfs' huts. I don't want nothing to do with that. And what about our mistress? One stillbirth after another, until her health is wrecked. If that is what love gets you, you can keep it!” she replied decisively, pulling the thin blanket closer around her shivering frame. “Lay down now, 'cause I'm freezing.” 

“I think madame hates me, and so does Lenore, “ said Amanda, laying down next to Yolande's chilled body. _The girl is bloodless,_ Amanda thought. Her bed companion seemed to be drawing the very heat from her own body, making her shiver. 

“Why?” yawned the other girl. “They treat everyone badly, Amanda,” she added sleepily. 

“It's the way they look at me sometimes. I feel frightened of them, like they mean to harm me, especially Lenore. I know they give me the most menial work to do, but I think there is something more. I don't know what it is.” 

“Maybe they're jealous.” Yolande sighed. She was finally warming enough to drift off to sleep. 

“Jealous? Why should they be jealous of me?” Amanda nudged her friend back into wakefulness. 

“Because you're beautiful and they're not. Now go to sleep!” 

“I'm beautiful?” she asked Yolande, but her friend was already snoring softly. Amanda stared at the dancing shadows on the ceiling. She had never seen herself except as a wavering image in her wash water, or parts of her face in Elspeth's small hand mirror that she had accidentally broken when she was twelve. She had little concept of herself except for the way others treated her. 

Yolande's revelation drove away sleep for a long while as she wondered about herself. _Is it beauty that attracts men and makes them want to harm me,_ she asked herself, remembering Randall, and then Aeglfinn. _Would it not be better to be plain like Yolande whom men seem to leave alone?_

She recalled that the young men in her village, before she was sent to the convent, had tried to corner her and touch her body. Being bigger than most boys, she easily rebuffed their crude advances with a kick to the shin or a hard pinch on the arm. The more she thought about beauty and love and the act of love, the more confused she became. Eventually, she drifted into a troubled sleep without resolving anything. 

**** 

Everyone said it was the hardest winter they could remember. Snow drifted into huge mountains against the manor. The servants shovelled paths to the outbuildings to tend the animals and get supplies, and the cold winter winds filled them in again. 

Inside the manor, the huge fireplace in the great hall was piled with burning logs, and a blue haze of smoke floated near the vaulted ceiling like a cloud. Near the fire it was warm, but everywhere else in the large house, it was bitingly cold. 

Amanda paused by the fireplace to steal a bit of warmth before she had to return to her own unheated room. She felt she was being watched and turned to see Gilbert staring at her. Fearing censure for being indolent, she hurried to the spiral staircase to retire for the night. 

“Amanda,” his voice rang across the room. “I wish to speak with you.” He crossed the hall and went into his study, a small room with a desk and a shelf with some books and scrolls upon it. Several candles in sconces on the walls cast eerie shadows against the walls. Amanda followed him across the hall. She had never entered this room before. It was his sanctum. 

He closed the door behind her, and Amanda felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she wondered what she had done. He had hardly taken any notice of her as she went about taking care of Eleanor. Indeed, they rarely had occasion to meet. He kept to his farm duties outside and she to hers inside. 

With the winter snows, he was confined to the manor house lately and she felt his presence like a weight. She often noticed Gilbert watching her. It made her clumsy and awkward. She tried to avoid him. 

“Amanda, you may have wondered why I hired you last fall.” He began, nervously pacing the small room as Amanda followed him with her eyes. “Eleanor, my wife, has been in poor health for a long time. It would seem that childbirth is not for her. You have done well looking after her. I have other duties for you now.” 

Amanda relaxed and breathed normally. She unclenched her jaw. So, it was not for criticism that he had called her into his study. 

Gilbert continued pacing, his brows drawn down in concentration. His anxiety seemed to communicate itself to her, as she wondered what he wanted of her. He cleared his throat and studied her face, looking for comprehension of where this conversation was going. It was not there. She stared blankly back, and it seemed to irritate him. 

“What I mean to say is that I cannot ask my wife to fulfill her duties to me as it may cause her health to deteriorate further. She may even die.” He watched for some sign of understanding and shook his head. Was the girl simple, he wondered, running his hands through his fine blond hair. 

Bluntly, he said, “I will require you to lie with me in my rooms some nights. Is that clear enough for you?” 

He looked into those dark eyes. He had seen the same look on a deer just before he had shot it through the heart with an arrow, a kind of wild, unreasoning terror. He shrugged. 

“That is all,” he said, dismissing her and turning to his desk. “You will come to my room tonight.” 

“No!” Amanda said, finally getting control of her voice. “I am no serf. You cannot order me to do this. I am hired to look after your wife. Seek your comfort elsewhere.” 

He smirked slightly and then laughed. “My wife said you were insolent, and so you are. Do not make the mistake of crossing me. This is my fiefdom and I own you as much as I own everything else here.” 

Gilbert sat on the edge of his desk, swinging his leg casually. “I heard an interesting story in the local town just after you came here. It seems that a carter from the village of Beauchamps was seeking a runaway serf who had stolen a large amount of money from him. The description of the thief fitted you exactly. Do you know, Amanda, what happens to runaway serfs? Or to thieves? The gibbet is the kindest of their punishments.” 

The room seemed to rock suddenly as Amanda realized she was trapped. No chance of running away. The heavily drifted roads were impassable, and she had no warm clothes for travel in winter anyway. Denial was useless, he would not believe her. Nor would anyone else, she knew from bitter experience. 

“What of your wife? Will she not object?” Amanda knew she was grasping at straws but she would not give him the satisfaction of easy victory. Maybe his conscience would deter him. 

“My wife is none of your business. Go to my room and make yourself ready. I will be there soon.” 

She returned to her own room, trembling and ashen. Yolande asked what was wrong, but Amanda could not speak. For long minutes she sat on her cot, with her friend holding her hand, waiting for her to confide her troubles. 

The door slammed open and Gilbert stood glaring into their tiny room. “Get out!” he yelled at Yolande and she sprang up and was gone, the sound of her bare feet slapping on the cold flagstones as she descended the staircase. 

He entered the room and closed the door. It seemed much smaller suddenly. She could hear his laboured breathing though she had not yet looked up at him. She knew he was watching her but she could not move. 

“You have two choices, girl. You can leave here right now with what you came with, or you can stay, under my conditions. What is it to be? I am a man of little patience.” 

“A choice between life and death?” Amanda said, finally looking at him. “I must choose life.” She stood up and moved toward him. 

**** 

If Amanda felt Eleanor and her daughter disliked her before, she now found, as Gilbert's mistress, she was actively hated by both. They lost no opportunity to make her duties more onerous or to criticise everything she did. 

The other servants treated her with more deference. It seemed the closer one was to the master, the more status one had, so Amanda surmised. But Amanda felt their cool disapproval. Their contempt was painful as she had begun to make friends and now those servants avoided her unless their duties required it. _As if I had a real choice,_ she thought morosely. Even Yolande was guarded around her, their comradeship a chill echo of what it had been. 

As the winter wore on, Gilbert demanded more and more of her time, not just for lovemaking but for long talks. He seemed to want more from her than just a complaisant body, he wanted part of her mind too, her spirit and her affection. These she would not give and it drove him to greater efforts. He gave her gifts of fine clothing, an expensive warm woolen cloak, sweets, scented oils. She remained aloof and remote except when passion ignited her body. He could give her pleasure but could not win her heart. 

With nothing to do but wait for the snow to melt, he became obsessed with this strange girl. Her dark eyes tormented him, his insatiable desire for her never satisfied. He took up her time, leaving her less time for her duties to his wife. Eleanor harangued and cavilled at Amanda for her laziness. 

Her relationship with Gilbert was never mentioned between Amanda and Eleanor. It was just there, like a spectre, haunting the room, his presence following Amanda like a ghost as if he were part of her, whether she wished it or not. 

Gilbert wanted to monopolise Amanda. He resented any time she was away from him, doing work for his wife. He wanted her to stay the whole night with him, but she would not. She never wanted to encounter his wife or daughter as she left his room in the morning, nor yet, any of the servants. It would be too demeaning to bear. 

Night after night, she returned to her own room, and without speaking to Yolande, would try to fall asleep. Sometimes, Yolande would feel the cot trembling as her friend wept, and she would stroke her back consolingly. There seemed to be nothing either could say. They were worlds apart these days. 

**** 

Icicles dripped and splashed on the casement, the warm sun penetrated the mullioned windows of Amanda's room. She stretched languorously, enjoying the rainbows of colour that twinkled on the walls from sunlight passing through the stained glass. _Almost spring,_ she thought hopefully. _Soon, the roads will be dry enough and I will leave this accursed place._

With a lightness of heart, she slid out of bed, disturbing Yolande who peeped open an eye then rolled over. The sound of hoofbeats attracted Amanda's attention to the window, and she forced the casement open a crack, letting in the cool fresh air. 

A soldier reined his horse in front of the manor, and leapt down with a splash of mud. Amanda could hear excited conversation as he disappeared from view into the house. 

“What was that about?” Yolande asked, coming to the window. 

“A messenger, I would guess.” Amanda turned from the window to wash and dress for the day's duties. 

All that day, the manor was abuzz with excitement over the messenger and what his appearance imported. The whole place seemed lively with expectation as the servants hurried about their duties. Amanda was questioned several times by other servants who overcame their reserve to ask about the messenger. They seemed to think she would know, being closer to their master than anyone else. She had no information to give them, and wondered herself. 

That night, as she lay beside Gilbert, she asked, “Who was that soldier today? Was he a messenger?” 

Gilbert pulled her closer, and answered, “Yes. He came with a summons from my liege, King Charles. I am to assemble a group of men-at-arms and meet with his army on the banks of the Seine. The Norsemen are at Rouen, and we must intercept them before they reach Paris. We leave in two days.” 

Amanda shuddered. The Norsemen! So close! Almost automatically, she murmured the prayer, _“From the fury of the Norsemen, deliver us, O Lord.”_ She heard Gilbert chuckle. 

“They will not come so far south, Amanda. The heathen devils stay near their ships. Do not fear. You are safe here on my lands.” He looked into her dark eyes and saw anxiety there. 

Amanda feared the Norsemen, but what she really dreaded was being left behind with Lenore. Unrestrained by her father's absence, who knew what cruelty she was capable of. All the servants kept a wary distance from her, from the leather crop that was always in her hand. Amanda had felt its sting more than once when she had not hastened to Lenore's bidding quick enough. She reaffirmed her resolve to leave. As soon as Gilbert was gone, so would she go. 

Almost as if he were reading her mind, Gilbert's eyes grew troubled and he embraced her fervently. She could feel his tension, his clinging need. “Amanda,” he whispered close to her ear, “promise you will not leave here when I am gone. I will return, hopefully, in a few weeks, when we have turned back those devils. Swear you will be here when I return.” He searched her face for some sign of acknowledgement, some light of affection in her eyes. He saw nothing that gave him hope. 

“I love you, Amanda,” he declared passionately. “I would marry you if I could. Eleanor is in poor health. She cannot live much longer. When she is gone, I will make you my wife. Swear you will wait for me.” 

Gilbert held her so tightly, she could hardly breathe. This declaration had caught Amanda off guard. She never expected such a proposal. Marriage! She would be the lady of this manor. All she had to do was wait for the inevitable. It was too good to be true! 

“I swear I will be here when you return, Gilbert,” she said solemnly, then smiled radiantly upon him, excited by the sudden change in her prospects. “And you must swear you will be true to your proposal,” she added. 

“Upon my oath, I will marry you when I am free.” He took her hand and kissed the palm fervently. “Do you love me, Amanda?” 

She looked ardently into his eyes, and lied, “Yes, Gilbert, I do love you.” 

**** 

The little troupe marched off in ragged order, with Gilbert riding at their head. The men were poorly armed, and dressed more for ploughing than for battle. Sullenly, the serfs straggled behind their master as he led them toward the terrible Norsemen and probably death. There was no cheering from their families. The loss of their man meant greater hardship for the family. 

Amanda and the other servants watched them out of sight, then turned back into the manor house. She sighed. It was not the glorious sight she expected. Gilbert looked splendid in his armour of mail, and helm, with his banner floating on the breeze as he held it on a staff. But the rest of his rag-tag army already looked defeated. A wrinkle of worry crossed her brow. What if they cannot hold back the heathen hordes? We are defenceless here. 

All that day, Amanda felt Lenore watching her, a look of cunning in her eyes. She tried to steer clear of her and succeeded until that evening. Amanda was summoned to Eleanor's rooms, and found her ladyship sitting up in her bed, propped up by several pillows. Lenore was standing by the bed. 

Amanda sensed some menace in Lenore's mien, but came forward with a deferential bow, and asked, ”Are you ready for your supper now, my lady?” 

Eleanor regarded Amanda with eyes that were harsh and feverish. _She looks worse than ever,_ Amanda thought a little guiltily, as the corollary was the betterment of her own station. Eleanor's face seemed old and sunken, with dark smudges under her eyes. She hardly had the energy to lift her head. Her laboured breathing was pitiful to hear. In spite of herself, Amanda felt a sudden keen sympathy for the dying woman. 

“Now that Gilbert is gone, I want you to be gone too!” Eleanor gasped harshly. “You have stolen the affections of my husband, and I want you out of my house.” She collapsed back onto her pillows as if that declamation had taken the last of her strength. 

“I cannot go, your ladyship, until my lord gives me leave. It was he who hired me to care for you,” Amanda said gently. She could not admit to the vow she had made Gilbert. 

“My mother doesn't need your help any longer, Amanda,” Lenore snapped, her face a mask of pure hatred. “She has me to care for her, especially with the new baby coming. We want you to leave. Now!” 

Eleanor watched with satisfaction as Amanda paled, stricken. She laughed harshly. “Did you think my husband would neglect his own wife for a slut like you?” 

That accounted for her worsening condition, Amanda thought in shock. Did Gilbert make her pregnant knowing it would kill her? Amanda shoved the thought away, but it came back. Could he be so ruthless? Her mouth was dry and she felt sickened by her own guilty hope for Eleanor's imminent death. 

Amanda felt trapped, by her oath and by the threat Gilbert held over her head. She was guilty of theft, the proof was hidden in the room she shared with Yolande. She could not leave, nor could she stay. 

She lowered her head and said, “I gave my word I would not leave until his lordship returns. I cannot go back on my word.” Turning without being dismissed, Amanda moved toward the chamber door. 

She heard a sudden movement behind her, then a blow to the back of her head. She heard Eleanor shriek, “Lenore! What have you done?” Then she sank into darkness. 

**** 

The murmur of voices drifted into her consciousness, as she tried to realize where she was. It was completely dark and Amanda felt smothered under the heavy canvas. She could hardly breath as a wad of something was stuck in her mouth. Her hands were tied behind her. Each jolt of the wagon brought a flash of unbearable pain in her head. She groaned and struggled to find a more comfortable position. The rattling and squeaking of the wagon covered any sounds she made and the two men on the driver's bench continued talking uninterrupted. 

Now fully conscious, Amanda tried to hear what they were saying. 

“Do you reckon we've taken her far enough yet? Her ladyship said to dump her about a half-day's journey from the manse. I think we've gone far enough, don't you? Travelling in the woods at night can be dangerous. Who knows what's lurking out there?” The speaker's voice quavered slightly. 

The other man laughed. “Afraid of ghosts, are you? But, you're right. This should do it. Let's get her out of the wagon.” 

Amanda felt the wagon stop, then heard the crunch of footsteps coming to the back where she was hidden under a canvas. She was suddenly lifted, none too gently and carried a short distance, then dropped onto the ground as if she were a heavy sack. _Maybe they think I'm dead,_ she thought in shock. Had Lenore tried to kill her? 

“What're you doing with that knife?” she heard one of the men say. Her heart went cold as she tried to still her trembling. 

“What I was paid to do. Make sure she doesn't come back. Go back and turn the wagon around. I'll finish this job and we'll get out of here.” 

Amanda listened intently to the sound of retreating footsteps and the heavy breathing of the man squatting next to her. With her mouth gagged, she couldn't plead for her life or call out. _It would do no good anyway,_ she thought hopelessly. 

“You were always kind to me, Amanda, so I guess I owe you something.” She felt the canvas being lifted with a rush of coolness, then the cold steel of the knife between her hands. The ropes suddenly fell away. “Stay still and don't move until we're gone. And if you value your life, don't ever come back.” With a gentle pat on her shoulder, he walked away and she heard the cart rattle off. 

* * *

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author!   
  
---|---


	5. The Fledgling: Part Five

The Fledgling Part 5 by Chimera

| 

_**The Fledgling**_

Part Five   
By Maril Swan aka Chimera © May 2000 

* * *

**** 

_At least I still have my warm cloak,_ Amanda thought as she trudged along the road later that morning through the early spring chill. _I wonder what story they will give Gilbert when he returns? Will he send anyone to look for me?_

Amanda thought regretfully about the trove of stolen coins she had left behind, hidden in her room. She hoped Yolande might find them. _Now I am back to where I started nearly a year ago,_ she sighed. _Except for this fine cloak, I have nothing,_ she snorted derisively, _I have gained and lost two fortunes in less than a year, and am no better off. And,_ she added bitterly, _I might have been a noble lady but for that despicable Lenore._

The events of the night were hazy, and her head still ached abominably, but she knew she was lucky to be alive. Amanda wondered who the men were. She thought she recognized one of the voices as that of the ostler but couldn't be sure. No matter. She would never see them again. 

A dizzy spell suddenly almost overcame her and she sat down at the roadside until it passed. _What did she hit me with,_ Amanda wondered. _It nearly broke my skull._ She touched the tender spot and came away with blood. The wound was serious. She felt nauseous as she arose and stumbled along. Now and then she stopped when the dizziness threatened to make her faint. She held onto the roadside trees and hedgerows for support. 

The area she walked through was more populous than that near the manor. On either side of the road were well tended fields, the snow piles receding to show their ploughed furrows. There were no workers in the fields as yet. Some distance ahead, Amanda could see what looked like a village beyond which was a larger structure that could be an abbey. 

_An abbey,_ she thought hopefully. _They will take me in for I need help._ Blackness nearly veiled her eyes again as she forced away the faintness and concentrated on reaching the abbey. 

An old woman stood on the stoop of her wattle and daub cottage watching the traveller as she wended her way down the road to the village. A look of concern crossed her kind face as the stranger staggered and hung on to the hedgerows or trees when she nearly fell. Despite the chill, she lingered to see if the girl was ill or if she needed help. 

Amanda saw the woman watching her approach and made her way to the cottage gate. Black wings of threatening unconsciousness beat around her head as she tried to frame a sentence. 

Without hesitation, the old woman opened her gate and taking Amanda's arm, led her into the cottage, and over to a cot. Amanda collapsed onto it. 

The aroma of food cooking tantalized her as Amanda regained consciousness. She raised herself into a sitting position on the cot and examined her surroundings. It was a simple place with whitewashed walls on which utensils hung from pegs. The earth floor was covered in freshly laid rushes. And it was warm from the cookfire over which she saw a kettle suspended, and from which emanated that delicious smell. 

Movement attracted her attention to the far end of the small room where the old woman had arisen to have a look at her patient. She was a tiny person, with the active eyes of a bird, and her wizened face wreathed in smiles, when she saw Amanda sitting up. 

“So you have returned to the land of the living, girl,” she said in a crackling voice. “I was afraid you were going to die on my doorstep.” She wiped her hands on her linen apron, and leant closer to look in Amanda's eyes. “Yes, I think you will be good as new in a few days. I have some medication for you to take, mind you drink it all. It will calm your headache.” 

With that, she went to the table and returned with a mug of some liquid. Amanda tasted it, and made a face at its bitterness. But under the stern eyes of the old woman, she swallowed it all. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, good mother. I will take my leave now. I was going to that abbey up the road for sanctuary for a few days until I am better.” 

“That's no abbey, girl. Not any longer. It used be an abbey long ago. Now it's the home of a great lady.” Seeing the disappointment on Amanda's face, she added, “You need some care for that head wound. How did you get it?” 

“I fell,” Amanda replied somewhat abstractedly. “Are we near Paris here? That is where I am going.” 

“Paris is just over a day's walk from this village. But I wouldn't be going there if I were you. There's a garrison surrounding the city to protect it from the Norsemen. My son was taken up by our seigneur to help guard the bridges. No, girl, this is as close as you want to get to Paris. Besides, every summer there's plague in the city. Must be the filth in the streets. You take my advice. Stay out of Paris, it will be your death to go there.” She nodded her old head sagely, reminding Amanda again of a bird. 

“I am feeling much better, thanks to your medicine,” Amanda said as she stood up and tottered. She sat down, realizing she was in no condition to go on. 

“Stay here a day or two, girl. I would love the company, and you need to let that wound heal. I'll just put some salve on it after I clean it up a bit.” She fluttered over to some shelves and pushing jars this way and that, finally pulled down a lidded earthen jar. 

“Are you a healing woman?” Amanda asked. “You seem to know a lot about medicines.” 

“Yes, girl. I am the local healing woman and midwife. I've seen more people in and out of this world than you could imagine,” she cackled. “Yes, seen 'em coming and going,” she chortled again. 

She suddenly turned to Amanda and said, “I can't keep calling you girl. What is your name?” 

“Amanda.” 

“I'm Gertha. My son is Léon. He isn't married yet, either,” she said, eying Amanda with a speculative gleam. “Why are you going to Paris? This is a nice quiet village. You should stay here. I have room now that Léon is serving with our seigneur. And when he comes back...” 

“I am looking for someone in Paris,” Amanda replied. “But I thank you for your kind offer. It does seem like a pleasant place to live. Perhaps I will return someday, after I have accomplished what I've set out to do in the city.” 

“Are you hungry, Amanda? There is nice thick pea soup in the pot, with lots of onions and ham.” Gertha went to the pot, giving the ladle a few turns and the aroma drifted throughout the cottage. 

“Yes. I am very hungry. How long was I asleep?” 

“Most of the day. But you looked like you needed a long rest. Here, come and eat.” Gertha ladled the fragrant soup into two wooden bowls and set them on the table. “At least stay the night, Amanda. You can make an early start tomorrow, or even the next day.” 

As Gertha chattered on in her bird-like manner, Amanda realized the woman was lonely, and wanted someone to talk to. She accepted the offer of the night's lodging. 

**** 

“Are you sure you won't stay another day, Amanda?” Gertha persisted. The early mists of morning still hung around the village huts, as Amanda glanced out the cottage window. The sun had yet to make its appearance. 

Her attention was caught by a woman riding down the centre of the village on a white horse. She was finely dressed, with curling red hair that floated about her face like a cloud. As she passed Gertha's cottage, she reined the horse, gazing about as if listening or looking for something. She shrugged, and kneed the horse into a canter in the direction of the old abbey. 

“Well, Amanda, at least take some food with you. You look half-starved. You need to get a little meat on your bones, girl. Maybe if you'd stay in one place long enough....” Gertha stopped, realizing that Amanda wasn't listening. 

Her eyes were filled with the vision of that beautiful woman on the horse. _That is what I wanted to be, she thought, a lady, but never will._ She turned from the window with a melancholy expression. 

“Finish your breakfast, Amanda. You can't go travelling on an empty stomach.” Amanda laughed fondly at Gertha's well-intentioned nagging. No wonder Léon went with the army. He probably never had a moment's peace. With a good appetite, she ate the barley porridge, then helped Gertha clean up. 

Reluctantly, she bade Gertha farewell, pressing one of her precious few coins upon her, and started walking the last few miles to Paris. She was exhilarated by the thought, _only another day and I'll be there!_ It made her step more briskly. Even the day seemed made for travelling. A bright sun rode in the cloudless sky, with the promise of warmth later in the day. The road was muddy but firm underfoot. Drawing in a lungfull of the fresh air, she felt it was good just to be alive. 

Leaving the village behind, Amanda passed the old abbey, its fortress-like walls an impenetrable division between her dreams and her reality. _What would it be like to live like a lady in a castle like that, to be waited upon rather than be the servant? To have fine clothes and jewels, never to worry about money or food._ With a last lingering look up at the castellated bulk, she squared her shoulders and set her face toward Paris. That is where she would find her benefactress, and perhaps even, her true mother. 

**** 

Amanda sat on the sacks of milled flour as they drew near the city of Paris. With each bump of the wagon, a cloud of flour dust would float up around her, making her sneeze. At least it was better than walking, she thought, but not much. The wagon bench was occupied by the miller and his son. They were delivering flour to supply the bakers in the garrison. Since early that morning, Amanda had ridden in the back of their wagon, having been offered the ride as she toiled along the muddy rutted road toward Paris. Now, it was nearly mid-day, and the early spring sun sparkled on the city as they approached. 

It was a sight that took her breath away. On the island was the city of Paris. Ringed around it, was another city of tents, amongst which were booths and wagons selling food and other items to the soldiers. Carts and people came and went through the camp, and the smoke from the cooking fires cast a blue haze over the whole area. 

Amanda had never seen anything like it. So many people in one place! So much activity and colour. And beyond the camp, was the city itself. Traffic on the bridges was heavy, people and wagons bustling back and forth from the city. She could hardly contain her excitement. 

**** 

On the Seine embankment, Amanda found a spot to rest. She had been walking through the city for hours and was tired and hungry. From under her cloak, she pulled out the package of food Gertha had made for her. Just some cheese and bread, but it would assuage her hunger for now. She set the food beside her on the linen napkin, and took small bites to make it last. 

A stealthy sound behind her made Amanda turn just as someone pushed her roughly aside, and as she righted herself, she saw her food was gone. She jumped to her feet and watched helplessly as two wretched-looking children sped away with her meal. They were soon lost to sight in the crowds, so she had no hope of catching them. A Saxon curse burst from her lips as she stamped her foot in vexation. _You've had your first lesson in the city, Amanda,_ she berated herself, _never let your guard down for a second._

The condition of those children bothered her. She had never seen tots so pitiable, not even the serfs' children. The young thieves looked about eight or nine years old, and were clad in tattered and filthy rags. Where were their parents, that their children ran wild in the streets? They must have been desperately hungry too, she thought, to steal food so brazenly in broad daylight. 

The sun was beginning to decline and Amanda realized, besides having no food, she had no place to spend the night. She stopped several passersby and enquired about lodgings but found the folk were suspicious and distant. Some seemed not to understand her speech. 

The only money she had left, just a few coins, Amanda decided to save if possible, to the last extremity. She would not pay for lodgings if she could find somewhere to sleep that night. _Where did those children go at night,_ she wondered. 

During her walk around the city earlier, she had passed a building under construction. She walked by the place again, and saw that the workers had gone. With a quick glance around, Amanda slipped inside the dusty debris-strewn building and found a protected spot where she could wedge herself in and feel secure for the night. 

Her warm wool cloak kept out most of the chill as she wrapped herself completely inside it, and she tried to fall asleep. The ceaseless skitterings and scratchings inside the unfinished building kept her awake most of the night. She suspected it was cats or dogs, perhaps even rats, but she remained wary in case the sounds were human. 

As morning dawned, Amanda was awakened by new sounds. The workers were starting their day on the construction. She had not meant to still be here when they returned. She unwrapped herself and pushed out into the open, and bumped into a burly red-faced man who glared at her menacingly. 

“What do you think this is, an inn? Get out of here, girl!” He gave her a rough shove and then a painful kick to her rump. 

Amanda stumbled, grazing her hand on the rough floor, then with startling agility, whirled and gave him a jarring kick in the groin. He bellowed in pain and swore foully. She took to her heels, passing the astonished and amused labourers, their laughter following her out onto the street. She didn't stop running until she was sure no one was after her. 

Panting and giggling, she collapsed onto the street, uncaring what others might think. Sobering, she thought, _I'd better eat soon. I'm getting lightheaded,_ which sent her off into another round of laughter. 

Though it was very early, the stalls in the market were opening. Amanda caught the scent of something delicious and followed it to its source, a meat pie baker. She strolled over to his booth and hungrily viewed the pies ranged on his stall. The baker stood behind the counter, watching her approach, as he brushed the flies away from his pies. He looked unshaven and unclean, his blouse a dull grey which had once been white, and his apron stained with grease. 

“How much for one of your pies?” Amanda asked. He gave her a price, one of her precious coins. 

“What about just one slice?” she parried, trying to bargain. He shrugged and cut a slice, handing it to her. The grease ran over her fingers and she licked it off. 

As she was about to hand over a coin, the two urchins she encountered the previous day came up to the booth, their hungry hollow eyes begging for food. The baker grabbed a cudgel from behind his counter and ran out to chase the children. 

“Get off, you mangy river rats!” he yelled, pursuing them a distance down the street. While he was thus distracted, Amanda picked up the rest of the pie, concealing it under her cloak and ran in the opposite direction. Making a few turns at the many narrow streets, she was soon sure she had lost him if he had decided to give chase. She made her way back to the embankment to enjoy her meal. 

As she was finishing her first slice of the meat pie, she had the feeling she was being watched. Turning slightly, she saw the same two children, probably brother and sister, standing a short distance off. Amanda beckoned them over, but for several seconds they hesitated, wary of a trap. She gestured to the pie which she pulled from under her cloak. The children darted forward, starvation overcoming their fear. 

Without a word, the children devoured the remains of the pie, licking the pan clean. Amanda watched them with a wistful smile, and asked, “Where do you live?” 

“Here,” answered the boy, who seemed to the elder of the two. He gestured around with his dirt-caked hand to encompass the whole city. The boy and his sister were tiny and fine-boned, emaciated from poor nutrition. She thought they were both fair-haired, though it was difficult to tell with the dirt encrusted on them. 

“Where are your parents?” 

The boy shrugged. “Got none,” he said, then bashfully added, “You're a nice lady.” He stared at Amanda with gratitude, his pale blue eyes shining in an exceedingly grimy face. Abruptly, he grabbed his sister's hand and they dashed off into the warren of streets. 

Amanda watched for a second until the children disappeared, then picking up the pie pan, took it down to the river and washed it. She tucked it into a pocket in her cloak. It might be worth something. For now, hunger was at bay. Her next concern was to find paying work and lodgings. And, of course, she would begin making enquiries about her benefactress, eventually finding her real mother. 

All the day, Amanda trudged the streets, stopping people to ask where she could find work. Most just brushed by, with an abrupt disdainful glance, and those who spoke to her, offered no encouragement. 

One fellow she accosted, said, “With the Norsemen attacking villages and towns along the Seine, there's a lot of folk coming into Paris for safety. There's no jobs, no rooms, and soon there'll be no food. Sorry, I can't help you, but there's just too many folk here who need help.” With that he bustled off, leaving Amanda staring hopelessly after him. 

It was probably true. She had seen it for herself in her few days in the city. The streets always seemed thronged with people shouldering large heavy-looking packs. All their worldly possessions, she supposed. At night, they camped with the garrison across the river, amidst the relative safety of the soldiers. 

Toward evening, Amanda was again ravenously hungry, not having eaten since the meal she had stolen from the baker that morning. She almost regretted sharing the pie with those children, now that her own stomach was empty again. As she trod the paved streets near the embankment, Amanda noticed the boy and girl following her. They were shyly keeping a distance, and as she turned to the two urchins, she was sure they were going to bolt. She beckoned them to come closer. Glancing at each other, they warily closed the distance until the brother and sister were standing in front of her. 

She smiled encouragingly and said, “What are your names? My name is Amanda.” 

The boy seemed to consider his answer, then replied, looking down shyly at the road, “I'm Jehan, and my sister is Therèse.” Those pale blue eyes found hers and Amanda felt a sudden warmth of compassion for these orphans who had nothing, not even decent footwear for their rag-covered feet. 

Therèse came forward and bobbed an awkward curtsey which made Amanda chuckle. “Thank you, mademoiselle, for the pie. Do you have anymore food?” she said in a soft piping voice, timidly looking up from under her straggling locks. Her brother nudged her roughly, and she pouted at him. 

“I wish I had, Therèse, but I am hungry too,” Amanda replied, crouching down to get closer to the children. “Perhaps I may be able to get us something from one of the food stalls in the army camp.” 

“No, Amanda. You shouldn't go there. It's a dangerous place. We can get something,” Jehan spoke up, his face showing boyish determination, as he stepped forward. “Therèse and I can bring you some food, mademoiselle.” 

The two children scampered off and Amanda followed them into the city. There were many people hurrying along the streets, and no one took much notice of the tots, other than to threaten them if they came too near. 

As Amanda trailed Jehan and Therèse, she saw the little girl approach a middle-aged man who was walking hurriedly along the street. She watched Therèse point to the long loaf of bread he was clutching his hand, and saw with horror, the man raise a stick to aim at the child. From behind, Jehan gave him a kick to the calf, and he toppled, dropping the bread. Therèse scooped it up and they ran. 

Amanda rushed over to him as he got up and seemed about to give chase. His florid face was suffused with anger as she held out her hand to help him, forestalling any possibility that he might catch up with the two little thieves. 

“They should get rid of all those vermin!” he shouted. “Drown 'em all in the river. It's not safe to walk anywhere these days!” He looked Amanda over suspiciously, then added, “Excuse my outburst, mademoiselle, but I am tired of being set upon and robbed.” 

“No harm done, monsieur. You have only lost a loaf of bread.” Seeing that he looked like a prosperous merchant, Amanda added, “Do you know of a place where I might find work? I am used to hard work and am very honest.” She gave him a bland look which she hoped was convincing. 

He scowled, and answered, “There's no work here. Go back where you came from.” He stomped off down the street, and was soon lost in the crowd. 

Amanda returned to the embankment where she expected to find Jehan and Therèse. They were waiting, munching on their stolen meal, having left a large portion of the loaf for her. Therèse grinned proudly, offering Amanda a large hunk of bread. 

**** 

It was a strange alliance that developed between Amanda and the two children. Jehan and Therèse almost seemed the elders as they showed Amanda their hiding places, the best ways to steal food and other items, how to avoid the other feral children who ran wild in the city. She, in turn, offered them her protection and strength, and after a few days, seemed to have adopted these orphans as her own brother and sister. 

Since arriving in Paris, Amanda had seen many orphans, varying in age from nearly toddlers to older children. These hapless creatures were treated worse than animals, driven away, hit with cudgels or stones, beaten or ignored. They swarmed through the streets, like feral cats, starving, desperate and dangerous. The only way to avoid being beaten by these gangs was to be part of them, to run with these stray children as Jehan and Therèse did. 

The children had their own shelter where they hid at night. It was an abandoned shed in a cemetery, the roof of which was fallen in, covering only a small part of the hut. It barely kept out the rain. Amanda used the old roofing boards to create a more secure space which leaked but was roomier than their previous shelter. Her thefts became more audacious as she stole clothing from clotheslines or bolts of cloth from a draper's shop to make blankets and cloaks for her little charges. 

A small stream ran through the cemetery, which in turn fed into a marsh at the edge of the Seine. The water in the stream was clean enough to drink, and to wash in. Amanda used her strength and determination to drag the children to the stream and bathe them. Neither had ever had a bath before, and they struggled against the cold water and enthusiastic scrubbing Amanda gave them until they were clean. As the dirt came off, the tots emerged as two blonde angels, to Amanda's fond eyes. 

“Now, don't you feel better?” she asked as they clambered into some clean clothing Amanda had purloined from a clothesline. A few alterations were all that was needed to make a good fit, she thought, inspecting them. 

“What's the good of washing,” asked Jehan, scowling. “We'll just get dirty again.” His little face was tight with anger, and Amanda had to stifle a laugh. 

“Then, you'll have to bathe again,” she said, giving him a stern look that brooked no refusal. 

Amanda plaited Therèse's blonde locks into two tidy braids. The little girl seemed delighted by her new appearance, especially the tiny gown Amanda had found for her. 

“You look like a princess in a grand castle,” Amanda said, hugging the child warmly. “All the young men will vie for your hand in marriage, but you shall refuse them all. Until your prince comes and falls in love with you.” Amanda smiled into the wide blue eyes of her adopted sister. 

“And you'll be the queen, Amanda,” Therèse added in her piping voice, “and we'll all live happily ever after.” She climbed onto Amanda's lap, throwing her arms around her neck. 

“Well, Therèse, for now, this will have to be our castle,” Amanda said, gesturing to the tumble-down shed surrounded by bracken and creeping vines. No passerby could recognize it as a habitation, which was how Amanda hoped to keep it. So long as they kept their shelter hidden, they should be safe. Few people came into the cemetery. It was the place where the wealthy were buried in crypts and mausoleums. The poor were disposed of elsewhere, Amanda surmised. 

****** 

The petty thefts which Amanda and the tots managed each day barely kept them fed. She knew, with the coming winter, their shelter would be inadequate and food would be even more scarce and expensive. The responsibility for these young lives weighed heavily on her as she thought how to acquire enough money for lodgings and food to last the winter. All her efforts went into caring for the children and she forgot about her reason for being in Paris. Finding her benefactress would have to wait a while. There was time. 

Amanda found some scraps of metal in the shed, and she began using a stone to hone them, scraping vigorously. Jehan was fascinated by her adeptness as the metal items took shape as a fine-bladed knife, a narrow metal strip, a hook and several other tools. 

“What are you making, Amanda?” he asked, leaning on her shoulder, watching as she worked. 

“Some tools and a weapon,” she replied, and bent back over the sharpening stone, rasping the rust from the iron. 

“How do you know how to make things like this?” Jehan frowned over the knife which lay on the ground beside Amanda. Its shiny blade was razor sharp. He moved toward it and Amanda pushed his hand away quickly. 

“You will cut yourself on that, Jehan. Never touch that knife. It is for me to carry.” She patted his hand affectionately, and added, “My foster-father showed me how to sharpen tools. He was a master mason and had many good tools.” 

“Where is he now, Amanda?” the lad asked, as if suddenly aware she had come from somewhere other than Paris. 

Amanda looked down at her rust-coloured, roughened hands, considering how to answer Jehan. “He lives in a town very far away,” she said finally. “I do miss him sometimes. He was a good man.” She stopped working and stared out through the opening in the shed to the trodden grass at the entrance. Her own snug home was very far from this place indeed. 

**** 

Amanda hefted her hand-made knife with satisfaction. The hilt was wound with strips of leather and the blade was honed to a fine point, its edge razor sharp. Though it would make a good weapon, Amanda had other plans for the knife. She slipped it into the leather scabbard she had fashioned, where it hung out of sight beneath the linen overskirt of her woolen gown. 

While Jehan and Therèse watched, bemused, Amanda practised drawing the knife with a deft and soundless movement. She created an effigy about the size of a man, hanging a leather purse from a rope at the waist. Using the knife, she slit the purse thong and caught it in her hands, while moving past the figure. Over and over, she made the manoeuvre until it was smooth and quick. 

Finally, Therèse asked, “Why are you doing that, Amanda? Is it fun? Can I do it too?” 

“Since I can't find work, Therèse, I need to get money for us somehow. I have seen cutpurses in the city who steal from people without their knowing it. They are quick and clever. So must I be, if I am to keep us in food this winter.” 

***** 

As the spring wore on, more folk were driven to seek refuge in the city as the Norsemen sailed up the Seine in their dragon ships, ravaging and pillaging as they went. Nothing seemed to stop them as they pushed against the river current with their oared ships, their goal being Paris. 

Outside the city, the garrison was reinforced and preparations made against the invaders. Inside the overcrowded city, life became more hazardous with inadequate food, shelter and water. Amanda and the children found it increasingly hard to steal enough to eat. Some days they had nothing. 

One morning in early summer, as the sun rose into a cloudless sky, Amanda heard a commotion as they emerged from their shelter. As they walked toward the embankment, Amanda saw crowds of people milling along its edge, pointing and clamouring excitedly, fearfully. Drawn by curiosity, they pushed into the crowd and watched with horror as a fleet of Viking ships sailed into sight. The crowd wailed with terror, some dropping to their knees to implore God to save them, others fleeing to hide within the city. 

Hanging onto the children's hands, Amanda hurried to find a place where they could be safe, and watch the battle she could see forming up. The army had assembled on both sides of the river, preparing to meet the invaders. 

Amanda led Jehan and Therèse to a nearby building where they climbed to the roof. They had an unrestricted view of the Norse fleet with its fierce dragon mastheads. There seemed to be hundreds of ships plying the Seine toward Paris. And nothing to stop them. Amanda felt a thrill of horror as she looked at her two little charges. All the terrifying stories of the Norsemen suddenly became very real as she watched them coming ever closer to the city. She would fight to the death for Jehan and Therèse, she vowed to herself, putting her arms protectively around them. 

As the fleet drew nearer, the army on both sides of the river suddenly formed two lines and began tugging at something. A chain came up, dripping, out of the water, and oxen on both sides were driven to pull the chain taut. At the same time, Amanda could see fires being lit, and then small rafts set alight and propelled into the stream where they floated toward the ships. From the shore, flaming arrows landed in the rigging of the Viking ships and their blazing fabric rained down onto the decks. A cheer went up from the crowd on the embankment, and from the hardier souls watching from the bridge. Amanda began to feel some hope the Norsemen might be repulsed by these tactics. 

Toward mid-day, several of the burning ships had been abandoned, their crew either swimming to the other ships or killed by arrows from the shore. Volleys of arrows flew between the combatants with neither side showing an advantage. Finally, the Norsemen began to move back downstream and a huge cheer went up from the army, and then from the citizenry of Paris. People hugged one another and catcalled at the retreating fleet. For a moment, the city beat with one heart. 

Over the next several days, the invaders came again and again, each time retreating with heavy losses. Amanda began to fear they would abandon their ships and come overland to lay siege to the city. Things were desperate in Paris already. The swollen population strained the city's resources past its limits. In the heat of the summer, the garbage and excrement that seemed everywhere bred hordes of flies which landed on everything. They carried disease and inevitably, a plague began. Without adequate supplies and with the unclean water, people sickened and died by the dozens. 

***** 

Food was so scarce it was becoming impossible to steal. Amanda began to use her skill at lock-picking to enter houses and rob them of whatever small items she could find. Even the few coins she got were often not enough to buy food. That commodity rose in price as the short supply made it more valuable. Some were making fortunes, others were starving. 

Hunger was her constant companion as the summer moved toward fall. The Norsemen had ended their assault on the city, being bought off by the Count of Paris. The harvest was poor as the peasants had fled their farms for the city and many had died during the plague. 

Jehan and Therèse fared no worse than other orphan children, save they had a protector. Amanda tried desperately to feed her adopted brother and sister but their emaciated little faces tore at her heart. She could never steal enough to keep them in food for more than a day. 

So far, Amanda had continued to practice with the knife, but had not used it to steal a purse. She had held back, from fear that she would be caught. What would happen to Jehan and Therèse if she were hanged for theft? But hunger made her desperate and she prepared to try her skill at being a pickpocket and cutpurse. Watching others in that crafty profession, she had seen how they made their advance on the quarry, usually in the marketplace or other densely populated space. A quick nudge, or a soft brush by, and they disappeared into the crowds with a purse. These dodgers were a non-descript lot, wearing drab peasant clothing and dirt-encrusted faces. Their very ordinariness made them invisible and difficult to pick out in a crowd. 

Amanda realized her height and comely appearance would make her too easy to identify, so she tried bending low as if hunchbacked and keeping her face covered with a veil. She covered her own gown, which was patched but still in good condition, with some rags she found to make herself more ugly and unobtrusive. Several forays through the city drew very little notice and she realized she had an excellent disguise. The next step would be the fateful one—to actually perpetrate the theft. 

“Jehan and Therèse, I want you to stay near the shelter today,” Amanda said sternly to the children early one summer morning. She had decided this would be the day. She did not want the children anywhere nearby in case she was caught. “I will be back soon with some food for us. Just promise me you will stay here,” she added, bending to embrace the children. 

They nodded, and she kissed both their cheeks, wondering as she did if she would ever see them again. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating so hard, she was afraid they could hear it. She saw the fear in their eyes as her own fear seemed to communicate itself to them. With a hearty laugh, she said, “I have a surprise for you and I will bring it with me when I return.” 

Abruptly, Amanda strode away while she still had the courage, heading toward the marketplace. She crouched low and covered her face, her ragged aspect drawing only disgusted glances if anyone looked at her at all. _So far so good,_ she thought as she limped through the market, looking for a likely person who might have a full purse. 

The hot and sultry air of the city was stifling, especially in the clothing she was wearing, and with her face covered. Amanda was parched with thirst and found it difficult to concentrate on her purpose. Even the paving stones seemed to burn like hot coals through the thin rags covering her feet. She had all but decided to abandon the attempt for the day when a scholarly-looking man came into sight at the far side of the marketplace. He marched through the crowd with an air of authority and people made way for him. Amanda chose this man for her target. He seemed prosperous and could afford to lose a small purse. 

As unobtrusively as possible, Amanda sidled through the marketplace, taking an indirect line to her quarry. He stopped here and there at various stalls, and at one, he pulled out his purse and made a purchase. Amanda noted where he replaced it, and continued to close on him. She slid her hand beneath her overskirt, found the knife hilt and clutched it. Her hand shook so she nearly dropped the knife. 

The man glanced over her as she neared him then looked away. A slight commotion caused some shoving in the crowd and Amanda took this advantage to lurch against the man, slitting the purse thong and catching the purse in her hand. She melted into the crowd, gradually straightening to her full height, removing the veil and hiding the ragged shawl under her skirt. An overwhelming urge to look back almost overcame her, but Amanda resisted the impulse and continued to walk casually out of the market and into one of the streets. 

When she was safely out of sight of the market, Amanda panted with excitement, her heart racing madly, her whole body trembling with exhilaration. She had done it! 

She laughed aloud, and hurried through the warren of streets to a food shop where she would buy some treats for the children as well as a nourishing meat pie. The purse seemed heavy. Perhaps there was enough money for a week or more and she would not have to do this again until then. 

***** 

Amanda's adeptness and disguises made her a successful cutpurse. The money from her thefts, she hid in various places around the shelter, showing the caches to the children in case she was caught. They would have something to live on for a while at least. It was all she could do. 

Each time Amanda went into the city, bent on her quest for a purse of money, she had the same trepidation and worry that she might not return. The thrill of stealing a purse, or entering a locked room to filch some items to trade for food or money, became almost addictive, an end in itself. Pitting her wits against the wealthy and powerful made her feel stronger, more in control. Whatever qualms of conscience she had originally felt, vanished in the greater good of securing food and shelter for her adopted brother and sister. Soon, she would have enough to pay for lodgings for the winter. 

Her very success drew the attention of other cutpurses whose territories she had unwittingly infiltrated. Without being a member of that underground gang, Amanda took prizes that other thieves felt belonged to them. 

One day in the early fall, she was followed into an alley after relieving a prosperous merchant of his purse. She hardly had time to react before he was upon her, striking her with a heavy cudgel, and grabbing the purse from her inert hand. The man was grizzled, toothless and ragged. His face was pock-marked from disease and he wheezed from the exertion of chasing her. 

“That'll teach you to come into my territory,” he rasped. “From now on, if you want to work my spot, you will pay me half of what you get.” He shook the cudgel in her face, and added, “This time I let you live. Next time, you die. Unless you pay me half.” 

Amanda pushed herself to her feet, towering over her attacker and he stepped back. “I will pay you nothing!” she retorted. “You caught me off guard. This time. Next time, I'll be ready for you,” she added, deftly pulling the knife from its hiding place. It glinted in the darkened alley. “Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't use this,” she said, taking a swift slice at his ragged jerkin, ripping the material but not touching his skin. “Now, give me back the purse, or I won't just cut into your rags.” 

The older thief yelped and jumped away, dropping the leather purse. He raised the club threateningly, but the resolute look in Amanda's eyes seemed to change his mind about further violence. 

Keeping her eyes on him, Amanda bent to retrieve the purse, and opening it, dropped a coin onto the ground in front of him, saying, “This city is hard enough on all of us without our fighting each other. Peace?” She smiled but the old fellow scowled, and picked up the coin. 

“It's everyone for themselves here, girl. Take my advice. You'll live longer. I'm not the only one who's noticed you. Others will come after you too. Get another line of work. There's too many at this already and not enough to go around.” With that, he limped out of the alley into the harsh brightness of the Paris streets. 

Her earlier exhilaration turned to a cold dread. She had not considered what consequence her intrusion into the nefarious world of thieves would cause. Amanda had ventured into all parts of the city, taking purses and breaking into homes. Now she wondered who else had been watching her movements. Would someone else strike at her as the old fellow had? He was small and weak, but what of others? She glanced down at the knife still clenched in her hand. Would she use it to kill, to defend her life? 

Amanda looked around the alley with a new wariness. Each sound, cats or rats foraging in the refuse, seemed stealthy and dangerous. She shuddered and hurried out into the safety of the crowded sunlit street. 

***** 

“Where do you spend your winters?” Amanda asked the children. It was late fall and their shelter barely kept them warm enough to get a restful sleep. Soon, it would be too cold to remain there. 

“Our Grandmama let us stay with her,” Therèse replied, her bright face turned up to Amanda. 

“You have a grandmother in this city?” Amanda asked, astonished. “Why do you not live with her all the time?” 

“She doesn't want us,” Jehan said, looking down at his feet. “She says we get in the way of her business. But, last winter, after our mama died, Grandmama kept us in her place until the warm weather. Then she sent us away and said we must fend for ourselves. She couldn't keep us. That's when we met you, Amanda.” Jehan grinned up at her and Amanda felt her heart ache for these unwanted children. She knew only too well how that felt. 

“We must see your Grandmama and get you a warm place for the winter.” As an afterthought, Amanda added, “What business is your grandmother in?” 

“She's a whore,” Therèse said, innocently adding, “I don't know what that means, but she says we keep business away if we're there.” The little girl shrugged as Jehan scowled at her. 

“You don't know anything!” he said derisively. “It means that she...” 

Amanda clapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish, and said sternly, “You will not tell Therèse such things. They are not for children to hear.” 

She sighed heavily, wondering if their grandmother would welcome the children back into her home. As bad an environment as it might be, at least it was warm shelter. _Perhaps the money that I can give her, will make up for the loss in her trade, at least until the spring._

She had searched for lodgings in Paris but all the available places were already taken, with whole families living in a single tiny room. The children's grandmother seemed their only hope and so they set off into the dim interior of the lowest part of Paris in search of this cold woman who would expose her own kin to a life on the streets. Amanda was not sure what to expect, but as they trudged through the foul alleys, strewn with refuse and excrement, her determination wavered. How could the children live in this filth, among these half-savage people? Hopelessness and resignation was written on the faces of those she passed. Mangy dogs prowled in the garbage, and ragged children played and tussled in the street. Men and women lurched drunkenly down the narrow alley from the wineshops, one woman vomiting almost on Amanda's feet. 

Abruptly, she took both their hands and marched back the way they had come. Perhaps, it was better to chance freezing to death than to live like an animal. Somehow, they would survive. Their own grandmother did not want them, but she did, and would protect them with her life. 

**** 

Using cloth stolen from homes and drapers' shops, Amanda lined their tiny shelter to keep out the drafts, providing some protection from chill damp of the Parisian winter. She packed snow around the hovel to insulate it further. Like a cocoon, their home was snug and warm, with only enough space for sleeping. She managed to steal some rough wool and used this for a warm mattress. Though they shivered together through the coldest of the nights, the little family survived. 

The caches of money dwindled as the scarcity of food kept the prices high. Amanda and the children subsisted on a meagre diet of fish, bought at the docks, bread, usually stolen, dried apples which Jehan filched from a barrel at the market, cheeses and sausages bought from a farm cart which rattled through the city once a week. 

Amanda broke into kitchens of homes in the wealthier districts at night in search of any foods stored in the pantry, and usually found some preserves of fruits or vegetables. Her skill at lockpicking, along with the tools she had fashioned, allowed her access to any place she cared to enter. She had developed the stealth of a cat, and an audacity to match. Driven by need, and emboldened by success, Amanda exulted in her abilities, exhilarated by the risks and her own accomplishments. 

The winter was severe but as the season turned toward spring, Amanda began to feel hopeful of a better life for them. She had determined to leave Paris and go back to the village where the healing woman had been so kind to her. _The city is no place for these children,_ she thought. _What future lay before them if they stayed here? What would become of Therèse? Would she be forced to become a whore like her grandmother?_ Amanda's mind recoiled at the thought. No, they must have a better chance. She would take them into the country where there was fresh air, open skies and freedom from fear, rather than the hot mean streets they had grown up in. Amanda smiled at the thought of her children, running and playing in green, flower-strewn fields, as she had done as a girl. _As soon as spring comes and the roads are passable, we will go,_ she decided. 

While daydreaming about the children's future, Amanda wondered about her own. She would give up her life of thievery and do what? Be a dairy maid, shepherdess, farm wife? Sighing heavily, she realized, in spite of the need which drove her, she relished the dangers of her exploits. The thought of settling into a domestic life held no appeal, though she knew it must be so. How else was she to care for her children? Her risks to her own life endangered the children. She was responsible for them. 

**** 

_Paris, spring, 850 AD_

Word came from the army garrison that the Norsemen were again harrying Rouen and would soon be on the Seine bound for Paris. It was only March but the raiders had already begun their predations along the coast and on the Seine. Amanda's hopes sank. They could not leave the city while the threat of the Norsemen endangered all the villages and towns near the river. Few were spared, not even the children, it was said. 

The garrison expanded again as new men-at-arms joined those of the Count of Paris. The city went about its business, new buildings being constructed, repairs to winter damage undertaken. The dull grey of winter burgeoned into the bright green of spring. In spite of the threat of the invaders, the people seemed to have a lightness to their step, and a smile upon their faces. They had survived another winter and felt grateful and glad. 

With the re-opening of the markets, Amanda was again able to ply her skills as a cutpurse. Their small hoard of money was nearly gone, and the purses she stole bought much-needed food. She only ventured into this dangerous game when money was low, recalling the attack and warning of the old thief. Her wariness kept her alert to any unusual glances or movements in her direction while she was in one of her disguises, stalking a quarry for a purse. The same heart-pounding excitement and dry-mouthed fear accompanied all her exploits, and the same exhilaration came with each success. 

One afternoon in late May, Amanda had slipped down one of the sidestreets into a narrow alley, preparing to tie a newly-acquired purse to her own belt. Too late, she saw the man step out of a doorway, to confront her. Behind her, more stealthy sounds alerted her to the presence of others. Her hand slid to the knife and she waited, her eyes fixed on the man. He was tall and emaciated, lank dark hair straggled down to his shoulders, a deep scar ran the length of his cheek, disappearing into his unkempt beard. His clothing was ragged, barely covering his starved body. Dark feverish eyes glared at her, glancing at the purse, and back to her face. 

He nodded and Amanda felt someone grab her arms, twisting them painfully behind her. Without struggling, she waited. 

“You should've taken old Henri's advice, girl. You had fair warning what would happen if you meddle in our territory. Now you'll pay. Take the purse, Guy.” From behind, the purse was wrenched from her hand. “You're a comely thing,” the man added, leering at her breasts which were tightly outlined by her pinioned arms. “We'll have some pleasure with you before we kill you.” 

He reached toward her breasts and as he touched her, Amanda brought her knee into his groin, and twisted out of the grasp of the other two men. Her knife flashed out and she wielded it at the throat of her prostrate attacker. “Come any closer, and he'll have a new scar in a more fatal place. Drop the purse and get out of here.” 

The sudden blow to the back of her head knocked her to the ground, leaving her semi-conscious so she hardly felt the kicks and punches that rained onto her inert body. A blissful darkness took her away from the horror and she heard and felt nothing. 

Awakening, Amanda was disoriented and racked by pain. Struggling to stand, she realized she had some broken ribs as an exquisite agony sliced through her, making her catch her breath. That seemed to be the worst injury, other than the cuts and bruises all over her body. She staggered from the alley, holding onto anything she could find for support. 

Somehow, she dragged herself back to the embankment, where, dipping the hem of her gown into the river, she tried to wipe the blood from her swollen lip and cool the bruises on her face. She felt someone touch her shoulder and flinched in terror, only to look up into Jehan's worried eyes. When he saw her face, he cried out and hugged her. 

Putting his thin little arms around her shoulders, he looked at her searchingly, his pale blue eyes wise beyond their years. “Amanda,” he said urgently. “Promise me you won't be a cutpurse anymore. It's too dangerous. When I get bigger, I'll join the army and I'll marry you. I'll protect you and no one will hurt you again. Promise me! Please!” he begged. 

Amanda held him closely, overcome by love for this child who had, with his sister, become all the world to her, and whispered, “I promise, Jehan.” As she held him, she wondered how she would provide for them now. 

**** 

The spring became one of the hottest, most sultry summers anyone could remember. Even the Norse invaders seemed half-hearted and languid. A hefty bribe of money and land deterred them from raiding Paris. Perhaps they were glad to return to the cooler northern climes, leaving the Parisians to bake in their fetid streets. 

And those streets bred disease which struck with suddenness and spared no one. The charnel carts plied the crowded warrens in the early mornings, picking up victims who were left by the doorways. The drivers painted large whitewashed X's on the doors to warn others of plague within. 

Amanda, incapacitated by her healing ribs, was unable to fetch food or money. She could not go on her night excursions into the homes of the wealthy. Nor could she undertake the long journey out of the city, to begin a new life in the country. Chafing at the inactivity, she worried about how to feed her children. They were down to the last cache of money and after that...she did not know. 

Little Therèse had a plan of her own. No one noticed a tiny tot hanging around, as they dragged the bodies of plague victims out of the houses and off to the charnel-carts. All she had to do was wait until the men left, and sneak into the house to filch whatever she could lay her hands on, especially food. She didn't tell Jehan or Amanda how she was getting these things. She was so pleased at being able to fend for herself at only eight years old, she wanted to keep her methods a secret. When they tried to pry it out of her, she finally gave in. 

The smile disappeared abruptly from Amanda's face when Therèse explained where she was getting the food and other things. “You mustn't go into those places, Therèse,” she scolded sternly. “The air is poisoned with plague. Never do that again!” 

Therèse's lip quivered. Her beloved Amanda had never spoken harshly to her before, and she only wanted to help. The air in those houses seemed like everywhere else. She did not understand what the fuss was about. A tear slid down her pale cheek as Amanda hugged her closely. “I love you, Therèse,” she said gently, “I don't want you to get sick, that's all.” 

A few days later, Amanda woke to the sound of coughing. Therèse was choking, her body so hot it seemed to burn Amanda's hand as she touched the girl. 

“Oh, God no,” she whispered, shivering with terror, as she looked into Therèse's fever bright eyes. 

“I don't feel good, Amanda,” the child gasped. She lolled back on Amanda's cloak, her body shaking with ague. “I'm so cold.” 

Jehan, too, was shivering as he came awake. His forehead was hot, and his eyes unnaturally bright. Amanda wrapped both children in her cloak, almost paralysed by fear. What could she do? As far as she knew, there was no cure. The plague ran its course and you either lived or died. 

But she must do something, try something, anything. In spite of her painful ribs, Amanda left the children to go into the city in search of some medicine or a healing woman. Each person she accosted backed away when she explained her errand. There was no help anywhere. 

She hurried back to the shelter to find the children burning with fever, delirious. She brought water from the stream and bathed their hot bodies, trying to bring down the fever. To no avail. They tossed and cried, shivering in spite of their own heat. 

All that day and night, Amanda tended Jehan and Therèse, her own pains forgotten as, with cold dread, she watched the plague take its fateful course. By dawn, the children were quiet, the blonde lashes lay almost unmoving on the translucent cheeks, a blue tinge creeping into the rosebud lips. 

“No!” Amanda whispered. “Please, God. No.” 

Gathering the children into her cloak, she picked them up. They were heavy and she staggered under their combined weight, pain slicing agonizingly through her. She stepped out of their shelter in the cemetery, and struggled onto the street. 

It was early morning, and the sun had not yet risen to burn off the fog that clung to the gravestones and monuments. Just ahead was an old church where Amanda felt sure she would find help for the sick children. 

Stopping in front of the church, she set the children gently on the steps and rushed up to try the door. It was locked. She pulled a piece of metal from a pocket in her gown and twisted it in the lock until the tumblers clicked into place, then threw open the church door. 

Inside the church was cool, and Amanda shivered slightly as she hurried toward the chancel. The odour of incense and candlewax was almost comforting, as it permeated the atmosphere of this church the same as her own village church. It was the comfort of familiarity. She suddenly felt homesick for her village. It had been over a year since she left home. But the quiet of the church gave rise to a keen nostalgia for her former life, in spite of its problems—mostly of her own making, she had to admit. Her worst problems seemed minor compared to this. At least then, she had a roof over her head and enough to eat. 

Standing at the chancel, gazing at the sacred carvings, Amanda wondered if anyone she had known ever gave any thought to her. Did they worry over her at all, or was she just forgotten? She felt oppressed by her own thoughts and by the gloomy visages staring down from the walls. 

The church seemed empty, and Amanda was about to retrace her steps when a cassocked priest emerged from the sacristy, and halted with an astonished look on his face. 

“How did you get in here?” he said suspiciously. His brown cassock hung over an ample belly, girdled by a rope belt that emphasized his girth. He narrowed his eyes as he took in Amanda's appearance, a gaunt figure wearing a patched gown with tangled black hair. His disdainful glance told her what he thought she was. 

Amanda didn't care what he thought. Her concern was for Jehan and Therèse, lying outside, sick with the plague. “Father,” she began respectfully, “I need the Church's help. I have two sick children outside and they will die unless they get some care, some medicine and food. Please, will you help me?” 

A horrified look crossed his face and he stepped back as if preparing to escape. “You've brought your sick brats here?” he shrieked. “You've brought plague to my very doorstep. How dare you! Get out!” 

“What good is this place!” Amanda rasped harshly, gesturing around at the church. She advanced menacingly on the priest, who seemed transfixed by this brazen woman. “What good is this huge building that is kept locked against the very people who need it? You could shelter dozens in here overnight against the cold. Instead they freeze to death outside. With the money spent on those gold ornaments on the altar, you could feed many needy families. Instead you take from the poor to fatten yourself. How dare I?” she yelled, her voice echoing from the vaulted ceiling. “How dare you call this place a house of God, when you shun his creatures and leave them to die?” 

A stinging slap brought her up abruptly. The priest glared balefully, and snarled, “You are damned! A blasphemer in the house of God. Get out of my church!” He turned on his heel and re-entered the sacristy, jerking the velvet curtain across the door. 

Amanda remained rooted to the spot, striving for composure. She shook in every limb, panting with outrage. She felt close to murder. With a ragged breath, she whirled and rushed out of the church. The sun was rising and the streets were starting to be busy. 

The children were gone from the steps! Her cloak lay empty and Jehan and Therèse were nowhere to be seen. In a panic, she dashed up to the first person she saw, an old street cleaner pushing a barrow of manure. 

“Did you see two little children,” she asked the man. “They're about eight and nine years old. I had left them there on the church steps.” 

“They was took away on the charnel cart. Dead.” He gave Amanda an appraising glance, sadly shook his head and pushed on by, without another word. 

Amanda snatched up her cloak and ran toward the bridge. The charnel cart carried the plague victims out of the city to a charnel pit some distance away. Perhaps she catch the cart before they crossed the bridge. It was a mistake! Jehan and Therèse couldn't be dead! 

**** 

The cart made many stops. It had been a bad night and the dead were left at doorways and on the streets. The cart was filling up fast and the driver was in a hurry to get to the pit before the sun got much hotter. He was inured to grief-stricken relatives as they watched parents, children, siblings being hauled away to an unmarked grave. Saddest of all, were the children. Their pinched little faces watching as mothers and fathers died from plague, and left them behind to fend for themselves. He consoled himself with the thought that they wouldn't last long. Like the two tykes he had just picked up from the church steps, left there no doubt to receive the last rites. He had considered taking the cloak but decided against it. Plague-ridden too, probably. 

Amanda raced along the embankment toward the bridge. The cart was in sight! She neared the charnel-cart, which had stopped while the driver picked up another body. The stench nearly overwhelmed her. Her breath seared her lungs as she strove for air. 

There they were. The bright blue eyes open and staring at the sky. Amanda touched the little faces and tenderly closed their eyes, never more open to sun or to twinkle with childish laughter. Jehan and Therèse, her children. 

The cart driver gave her a moment to bid them farewell, his tear-misted eyes averted, then he clucked the horse into motion. Amanda followed the cart in a daze as it crossed the bridge, stopping about half-way. She didn't want to see anymore. 

Paralysed by grief, she stood on the bridge, unseeing, unthinking. Her whole world gone. 

Without conscious thought, Amanda climbed onto the parapet, wavering and staring into the river. It seemed to draw her, inviting her to plunge into its murky depths. People passed by, gave her an uncaring glance and continued on. They had witnessed this scene before, despair driving the tormented to end their lives in the river. Nothing anyone could do. 

Nearly losing her balance, she jumped back onto the bridge. “I must choose life,” echoed in her mind, recalling the last time she had made this choice. Numbly, she crossed the bridge into the city. 

She found their favourite place on the embankment, crouched, holding herself tightly, and watched the river flow by. Dry-eyed, she stared. She couldn't even weep, just rocked herself back and forth in an agony of loss. Hours passed, the sun beat on her back and she remained by the river, as if keeping a vigil. 

**** 

A chill breeze off the Seine made her shiver. Amanda pulled herself from her cramped position and stood up. It was nearly dark. Paris was a dangerous place at night. She always made sure the children were safe in their hide-away before nightfall. 

Amanda could not return to their former haven. She was shielding herself from the grief that threatened to drive her mad with despair, with the urge to revenge all the afflictions she had suffered. She could not think about this, she must get on the move, do something. 

As she ventured along the darkened streets, Amanda heard a stealthy sound behind her. A hand reached around her neck, trying to constrict her breathing into unconsciousness. An unreasoning anger flashed through her as she kicked her assailant's shin and she heard him yelp. Turning quickly, she kneed his groin and he went down. He was a filthy lad of about seventeen, and as desperate as she. A club was tied to his belt. Amanda grasped it and threatened him with its heavy wooden end. 

“I'm keeping this for protection. You come after me again, I'll break your head with it.” He quailed from the heavy club she waved near his head, but mostly from the deadly coldness in those eyes. She stalked off into the night with her new weapon hanging ready at her side. 

She had feared the night. Now she didn't. Careless of danger, Amanda walked where she wished, almost hoping for a challenge. She had chosen life, and she would deal death to anyone who tried to take it. A victim no more, she vowed with a cold smile at the night. 

**** 

Her fortunes changed a little in the weeks of late fall. Where she had previously protected her own life as a responsibility to Jehan and Therèse, she now exercised more cunning and boldness. Her thefts were increasingly more valuable, larger, more daring. She stole goods from merchants in broad daylight, using her intimate knowledge of the city to escape and hide. The silversmiths and goldsmiths were her favourite sources of merchandise. She filched goblets and plate, usually undetected, as she slipped the items into a secret pocket she had sewn into her cloak. 

Amanda discovered the underworld through which she could turn stolen goods into cash. They were a gang of cutthroats and thieves, but several soon learned she could be as ruthless as they. Some had felt the business end of her cudgel when they tried to threaten her or steal from her. One look into those cold dark eyes was enough warning of danger. 

**** 

As winter approached, the plague seemed to have run its course. Fewer victims were carted away and the city settled down as the Norsemen had retreated to their own homelands. Peasants returned to their farms and the garrison was disbanded except for the Count of Paris' own guard. Amanda had been using the thronged streets to cover her escapes from enraged merchants who discovered they'd been robbed. With the city emptying, it became more difficult to perpetrate her thefts and get away. In keeping with her promise to Jehan, Amanda confined her thefts to merchandise and jewellery. 

In early November, Amanda had been strolling through the streets of merchants in a part of town she did not usually frequent. She passed several shops, casually looking over their wares. In the mullioned windows of the silversmith's, she noticed a particularly fine goblet. A crafty smile crossed her lips. 

She went into the shop, and the smith eyed her suspiciously. With her filthy appearance and ragged garb, she was obviously not a customer. Amanda suddenly bent double and began to choke. “The plague,” she gasped. “Help me!” 

The terrified smith ran into the street, looking for someone to drag her out of his shop. Amanda, chuckled and picked up the goblet, then staggered out of the shop, and passing the silversmith, abruptly broke into a run, laughing wildly. He gave chase and was soon joined by others in a hue and cry after her. 

A few turns into various streets failed to lose the vigilantes. She spied a body being taken from a house and the plague symbol X being drawn onto its door. She dashed to the entrance and disappeared inside. Panting and giggling, she looked over her new treasure. It would be worth at least a month's food, possibly more. 

On the table was a loaf of bread. She was hungry and decided that the former owner wouldn't be needing it. Picking it up, she tucked the loaf under her cloak, munching on a hunk, and slipped back outside. She heard nothing and hoped she had lost her pursuers. 

As she crept away from the house, someone shouted, “There she is!” They were only paces away and someone hit her with a heavy club. The silversmith retrieved his goblet and gave Amanda a rough push with his foot. 

“Is she dead?” a voice asked. Another answered, “Soon will be. Toss her onto the charnel cart.” 

Amanda felt the light fading and thought, _this is death._ As her consciousness ebbed, she saw a vision, the red-haired lady from the abbey, riding her white horse, a drawn sword in her hand. She reached out to the vision in a final gesture as her life slipped away. The last sound she heard was, “Leave her!” Then the darkness of death claimed her. 

**** 

Amanda's head was humming and painful. A soft cloth brushed her forehead and she opened her eyes. Confused, she looked into the pale green eyes of the lady with the red hair. Amanda took in her surroundings, bewildered by how she came here or where she was. Was she not dead? 

“Are you an angel?” she asked hesitantly. 

The woman laughed lightly, her tone not mocking, just amused. “No, I'm not an angel. I'm Rebecca Horne, and this is my castle,” she answered, gesturing around the brightly lit room. 

The brightness hurt her eyes a little, and she squinted against the pain it gave her head. That persistent humming. She wished it would stop. 

The room was large enough for several families, Amanda thought. The furnishings were expensive, beautiful. The bed she was lying on was soft, covered in fine white linen, its bedstead of dark oak. The canopy and drapery surrounding the bed were white brocade fringed all around. Next to the bed was a table on which a brass candlestick held a flickering candle. Large wooden chests and small casks were placed against the stone walls. Tapestries hung upon the walls, their rich colours accenting the warmth of the whole room. Candles gleamed from many sconces along the walls. Such an extravagance! Even at Gilbert's manor, Amanda had never seen such wealth. 

“What's your name,” Rebecca asked kindly. 

“Amanda,” she replied, sliding off the bed. 

She felt out of her depth here, wondering if she was in some kind of trouble. Had the silversmith given her over to this lady? What did she want? She glanced at Rebecca. Her rich gown and elegant manner made Amanda feel more keenly the difference between them, the lady and the thief. 

With a certain hauteur, Amanda squared her shoulders and wandered about the room. There were many valuable things laying about, begging to be picked up. A nice pewter goblet, for instance. Amanda stuffed it into her gown, keeping her back to Rebecca. That should fetch a good price, she thought as she surveyed the room for other small items she could easily hide. 

Rebecca's voice hardened a little as she said, “Amanda, your life is about to change, beyond your wildest imaginings. But first, put back that thing you've taken.” Amanda set the goblet back in its place, and turned, waiting for the blow or the harsh rebuke. 

More gently, Rebecca added, “You have no need to steal from me. From now on, and for as long as you need it, this is your home. I will be your teacher.” 

“What are you going to teach me?” Amanda asked with an insolent edge to her voice. She rubbed her forehead. The humming seemed to be receding somewhat. 

“About reading and books, how to defend yourself with a sword. Many things.” Rebecca watched the girl as she warily tried to understand what was happening to her. 

“Books are for monks, and swords are for soldiers. What do I want to learn that for?” Amanda's seeming insouciance hid her terror. She thought she had died, and now she was here in this sumptuous room. What did it signify? Was this heaven? 

“Amanda, what I'm about to tell you will seem unreal, like a fable. But it is an actual fact.” Rebecca drew a breath, pausing to make sure she had Amanda's attention. “You were dead. Now you are alive. You are like me, an Immortal.” 

Rebecca had to admire her composure. Amanda was holding herself very still, her eyes calculating as she waited for whatever fate had in store. Rebecca had never seen anyone take what she had just told Amanda with so much stoicism. Or more likely, she did not believe it. Who could blame her? Rebecca tried again. 

“That blow to your head killed you. That is how your immortality is triggered, by violent death. From this day forward, you can never die, never be ill and never grow any older. If you will permit me, I will be your teacher, and your friend.” 

Amanda raised her eyes to stare at Rebecca and she recoiled slightly. Those cold black eyes chilled her to the marrow, and she wondered what she was taking on herself. What had happened to this young girl that she would be so wary of kindness, of overtures of friendship? There was no sign of gratitude or trust in those glacial eyes, just suspicion, and a sense she was waiting for something. But what? The trap to be sprung? An unkindness or a blow? 

Rebecca was at a loss for a moment, and considered this student might be too much. Or even worse, turn on her. That had happened to others in the past. Would Amanda prove to be the viper one has taken to her breast? Better to turn her out now, or find her another teacher. But there was something about Amanda that Rebecca sensed under that armour she seemed to have built around herself. A certain vulnerability, fear. Perhaps, with kindness and time, Amanda might come to trust her. 

She made her decision. 

“I have had a bath drawn for you, Amanda. It is beyond that drapery, in a small room. Here is a robe, and a shift for you to sleep in. This is your room for as long as you stay here. Tomorrow, we will start your training.” 

The bathing room held a large copper tub filled with warm water. Amanda trailed her hand in its scented warmth, inhaling the moist fragrance. With a glance at Rebecca who remained in the other room, she pulled the damask drapery across and disrobing, slid into the bath. It was an exquisite pleasure to be immersed in water, to be clean. Not since she had lived in the manor as Gilbert's mistress, had Amanda been able to bathe like this. How long ago was that? She tried to remember. A lifetime ago, she laughed to herself. 

A lifetime. Immortality. What did this Rebecca think she was, a fool? She snorted derisively at the thought of immortality. What a cruel joke! She had survived a blow to the head before, and she had done so again. What did this woman want? A servant, a serf? _Well,_ she thought to herself, _I will get out of here as soon as may be. But not empty-handed._ With that, Amanda chuckled and slipped under the water and washed her hair until it shone. 

The shift and robe smelled of lavender. Amanda drew in the fragrance with pleasure. _It would be so easy to fall into this trap,_ she warned herself, _with all these fine things around. She said this is my home, so these must be my things. I will take them with me. They will fetch a good price._

“Well, you certainly don't look like the girl we brought in here earlier today,” Rebecca said, looking up as Amanda entered the bedroom. “You look quite radiant, and lovely. Use the combs and brushes I have laid out for you.” 

Amanda moved to a low dressing table by the wall, over which hung a large mirror. She caught her breath at the image reflected by its silvery surface. She touched her face, then her hair and she stared. 

Rebecca came to stand beside her. “Have you never seen your reflection before?” 

Amanda looked from the reflection of Rebecca to that of herself. Both were tall, Amanda slightly more so, and both beautiful. She recalled what Yolande had said about the noble ladies of the manor being jealous of her beauty. Now she could see it for herself. She was as shaken by this revelation, as she was fascinated by the image of herself. Long black hair, a pale complexion and very dark eyes. Her face was somewhat thin, she thought, and her body too angular from lack of food. 

“I shall have to remove this mirror,” Rebecca laughed, “it will make you quite vain.” 

Wonderingly, Amanda said, “I had no idea of what I looked like. It is like seeing a stranger for the first time.” She smiled shyly, a bit disarmed, and continued, “You are a beautiful lady, Rebecca.” 

“And so are you, Amanda. You'll be even more so, when you have gained a bit of weight. You are much too thin. Let us begin to remedy that right away. I have ordered a meal for you to be sent up when you have finished your bath. Do you wish to eat now?” 

**** 

Amanda lay in the soft bed, listening to the castle sounds quieten. As soon as everyone was abed, and asleep, she would slip away. She wondered what they had done with her cloak. Probably it was it the great hall. It contained all her worldly possessions, save the silver coin she could never bring herself to spend. That still resided in the hem of her gown. 

Comfortably replete, she reviewed with pleasure the meal of which she had partaken before retiring. A variety of dishes were laid before her, bowls of meats in fragrant sauces, vegetables still crisp and savoury, fruits and compotes. Amanda ate gluttonously, not knowing when she would ever see such foods again. The offer of wines she had declined, but had quaffed several glasses of cider. 

If she could find the kitchen, she decided, she would try to take some of the leavings from her meal. She had been unable to eat everything, as much as she had tried. 

She recalled Rebecca's gentle jibe. “I did not mean for you to gain all your weight in one sitting.” _Well might she laugh,_ Amanda thought angrily, _she had probably never known real hunger._

The castle was still and silent as she stole out of the bedroom, dressed again in her own gown which had been washed while she was unconscious. Amanda searched for the coin and found it was still in its hiding place. 

As she slipped along the torch-lit corridor, she saw a room with several chests and casks. _That looks promising,_ she decided, and entered. In a small cask sitting atop a larger one, she found what looked like a group of precious stones. _She won't miss one,_ Amanda thought, as she pulled one of the crystals from its case. She slipped out of the room and down a flight of stone steps that led to the great hall. 

_That accursed humming again,_ she thought miserably, _I must have been hit very hard._ Shaking her head to clear it, she continued toward the landing. And stopped abruptly. 

Rebecca's green eyes glittered with fury. She held a sword and looked as if she meant to use it. Amanda quaked, waiting for the sword stroke that would end her life. It was Rebecca's right to defend her property. For a second, neither spoke nor moved. 

“How dare you steal from me!” Rebecca hissed. “You have no need to take what will be yours by right. Hand it over!” 

Watching Rebecca's sword hand warily, Amanda stepped forward and gave up the crystal. Her eyes betrayed what she expected, a punishment or death. That desperate, fearful expression tore at Rebecca's heart and she lowered her sword. 

“I will not punish you, Amanda,” she said softly. “I forgive you.” 

Amanda's reaction was so unexpected, Rebecca did not know at first how to deal with it. 

“You forgive me?” Amanda whispered incredulously. Her eyes widened, and she trembled, wavering uncertainly as if she would fall. “You forgive me?” she asked again. 

“Yes. Has no one in your life ever forgiven you?” 

“No,” Amanda replied, shivering with emotion. “No one.” She began to sink toward the floor and Rebecca moved quickly to intercept her. 

Rebecca took Amanda into an embrace and found herself supporting all her weight as she collapsed, sobbing on her shoulder. Tears prickled behind Rebecca's eyes as she wondered again about Amanda's previous life. What horrors had she witnessed, what wrongs had been done her? She worried about the power of immortality being gifted to one who might use it for revenge. 

When she had exhausted her tears, Rebecca took Amanda back to her room and tucked her into the clean linen sheets. She kissed her forehead as the girl closed her eyes. 

“Sleep now, Amanda. Tomorrow is the beginning of your true life.” 

End of Book One of the Chronicles of the Raven 

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© 2000   
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